


To See What Lies Beyond

by Veldeia



Category: Marvel Noir
Genre: 1950s, Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst and Feels, Bittersweet Ending, Captain America/Iron Man Big Bang 2016, Established Relationship, Fanart, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Minor Bucky Barnes/Natasha Romanov, Mountaineering, Post-World War II, Presumed Dead, Sick Tony Stark
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-25
Updated: 2016-11-25
Packaged: 2018-08-28 20:51:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 32,305
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8462524
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Veldeia/pseuds/Veldeia
Summary: Afraid that his declining health will soon put an end to his adventuring days, Tony convinces his friends to join him on the ultimate challenge: climbing Mount Everest. As well-prepared as the 1952 Stark-Rogers expedition is, there are many twists and turns on the way towards the summit that take them by surprise. Is there another team on the mountain? Are Bucky Barnes and his friend, Natasha Romanova, entirely truthful about their story? Not to mention the Yeti, and the lost city of Haven, which could hold the key to fixing Tony's heart for once and for all—if he can survive the journey.





	

**Author's Note:**

> The awesome art for this fic was done by [Angel](http://pantsoff-danceoff.tumblr.com), and can be found both [here on tumblr](http://pantsoff-danceoff.tumblr.com/post/153613785983/artwork-for-to-see-what-lies-beyond-by-veldeia) as well as embedded in the fic. In addition to a suitably adventurous cover, the art includes a map, so you can keep track of where our heroes are on the mountain!
> 
> I'd also like to thank my helpful and encouraging betas [Kalashia](http://archiveofourown.org/users/kalashia/pseuds/kalashia), [Navaan](http://archiveofourown.org/users/navaan/pseuds/navaan), and [antigrav_vector](http://archiveofourown.org/users/antigrav_vector/pseuds/antigrav_vector), who leaped in to do a speedy last-minute SPaG check when I was having doubts <3
> 
> This story is set in the same timeline as the cave adventure [Tony Stark and the Subterranean Escapade](http://archiveofourown.org/works/7307806), but can be read without any knowledge of it.

_"If one should ask me what 'use' there was in climbing, or attempting to climb the world's highest peak, I would be compelled to answer 'none.' There is no scientific end to be served; simply the gratification of the impulse of achievement, the indomitable desire to see what lies beyond that ever beats within the heart of man."_

―George Mallory  
1886, Mobberley, Cheshire, England -  
1924, The North Face, Mount Everest, Tibet

## Prologue

#### London, January 1951

"I doubt it'll be of any use to you. I hear a dozen people have tried to make sense of it already, and everyone has come to the same conclusion: ravings of a lunatic," Jackie said as she handed Tony the diary.

Calling the small notebook tattered would have been putting it mildly: the leather was stained with who knew what, half the back cover and many of the pages were missing, the remaining ones curled up, and as Tony leafed through them, he could see the ink was blotched and smeared more often than not.

"At least it might prove an entertaining read, then," he replied casually. He didn't want to seem too excited. He was surprised enough that he had managed to acquire it so easily.

"If it's entertainment you're after, I can recommend a number of more interesting works," Jackie said sardonically.

"No, this is exactly what I need, and nothing else. It's been lovely to see you, as always, milady," Tony said, and got up. He kissed her hand in goodbye; she rolled her eyes at him.

Retreating through the elegant hall, its daintily decorated tables, delicate tea sets and miniature cakes, Tony felt he stuck out like a sore thumb despite his perfectly tailored suit. He'd spent the entire day sitting in clubs, and although polite socializing was a thing he excelled at, all this stiff upper lip posturing was starting to get on his nerves. Especially those stuck-up gentlemen at the Alpine Club—it was difficult to imagine them in a setting more extreme than walking up a gently inclined hill covered in perfectly trimmed lawn. At least it had been a very successful day. He had everything he'd been looking for.

He accepted his coat from the butler, tucked the diary securely inside his shirt, and stepped out into the chilly drizzle. There was no snow on the ground, and in the dim evening light, everything looked grey. Tony welcomed the contrast of the bleak London weather to all the luxurious comforts he'd been surrounded by for the best part of the day. The Langham was about a mile away, and he decided to walk, to catch some fresh air.

If the streets hadn't been so quiet, and if Tony hadn't been playing these games for most of his adult life, he would never have noticed he was being tailed. Whoever was after him, they were very good, barely making a noise and constantly hiding in shadows. Still wondering if it was just his mind playing tricks on him, Tony took an experimental, sudden turn down a side street, and hid in a doorway.

He wouldn't have expected anyone to be interested in the diary. Besides, it hadn't exactly been kept in a secure vault before this. It would've been easy to steal earlier. Of course, this didn't have to be about the diary at all. He had made plenty of enemies, over the years.

He waited, but no one showed up—not until he finally decided to move on, and stepped back into plain sight.

The attack seemed to come out of nowhere, the assailant moving so swiftly that Tony wondered if he was facing someone with powers, like Steve. This person was much smaller than Steve, though; the loose parka with a fur-rimmed hood that shadowed the attacker's face didn't hide how slim they were. A woman, maybe?

Whoever this person was, Tony couldn't get a very clear impression of them, because he had his hands full trying to block their moves. If he hadn't already been on full alert, the first acrobatic flying kick aimed at his head would've certainly knocked him out, and the low kick that instantly followed very nearly cost him his balance. From the get-go, it was obvious that he was desperately outmatched.

He had no need to see this fight to the end. He didn't want to risk losing the diary, or the maps and notes that he had in his messenger bag, painstakingly obtained from the pompous alpinists. He managed to push his attacker back a few steps, and took the opportunity for a hasty retreat.

The mysterious stalker followed right on his heels. He headed directly towards Regent Street, where there would surely be some traffic that'd make it easier to lose the tail. He wouldn't be able to do that in the empty side streets, because clearly he wasn't fast enough, failing to put any distance between them. He tried to pick up his pace. The rain lashed against his face and splashed at his feet.

When he finally reached a turn and found a few other pedestrians and plenty of cars and buses to offer him cover, he wasn't just a little winded. He was starting to feel dizzy, the rapid tap of the repulsor pump slightly out of time with his racing heart. Which didn't make any sense—it was much too soon for him to be running out of a charge!

His assaulter was gaining on him, and to win at least a few feet, Tony made a headlong dash across the street, dodging cars. Several drivers honked at him, and he only narrowly avoided getting hit.

He could already see the hotel. He focused on that. If his tail saw him enter, they'd find out where he was staying, though chances were that they already knew. He'd have to worry about that later. Right now, just trying to get there without fainting seemed like enough of a challenge.

Thankfully, the traffic hindered the attacker enough that he did manage to make his way to the front door with all his precious prizes still in his possession. In the nick of time, too; his vision had gone a little blurry, and he couldn't seem to catch his breath.

Ignoring the mildly concerned looks from the personnel, he staggered to the elevator and through the corridors into his room, where he shrugged off his waterlogged coat, and slumped to sit on the edge of the bed. The diary momentarily forgotten, he went on to shed his jacket, shirt and undershirt as hastily as he could, tossing them aside.

His hands shook as he brought them to his chest to pry the repulsor cover open.

The power gauge read eighty percent.

He wasn't running low. He shouldn't be feeling like this.

He sagged back against the mound of embroidered pillows covering the bed, gasping for air in a way that just wasn't normal. He might not be superhuman, but he was no sluggard, either. Sure, he had been going as fast as he could, but that had barely been half a mile.

Maybe he was coming down with something. Not unusual at all, this time of the year. Or maybe it was some random, minor fault. Could happen. It didn't have to mean anything. Of course, that would've been much easier to believe if this hadn't been the third time in as many months.

As it was, the galloping beat of his heart that took far too long to settle felt awfully ominous.

  


* * *

  


#### New York, March 1951

"So, are you finally going to tell us what the occasion is?" Pepper asked, setting her spoon in the empty dessert bowl.

She looked stunning, as always, with her dark green dress, silver earrings and necklace—but not quite as stunning to Steve as Tony did in his suit, with a blue tie that matched his eyes. Even after almost ten years together, the sight was enough to make Steve as flustered as a teenager.

After almost ten years together, Steve could also recognize the slight hesitation on Tony's face before he spoke. Undoubtedly, the others had picked it up as well: Pepper, Rhodey and Jarvis had known Tony even longer than Steve had. It was gone as quickly as it came, though, replaced by a warm smile.

"Can't I just treat my closest friends to a nice meal without there being an occasion?" Tony countered.

"A nice meal at the mansion, sure, but a five-course dinner in a place like this?" Rhodey waved a hand at the hall around them, immaculate white tablecloths, chandeliers and all. "Either we're celebrating, or you feel like you need to apologize for something. Which is it?"

"All right, you got me," Tony said, but instead of replying, he motioned at the passing waiter. "I think it's time you brought out the cognac. The bottle I talked about, if you please."

Tony wouldn't reveal more until said bottle had arrived, only replying to further questions with an enigmatic smile. Steve wasn't overly familiar with different types of cognacs, or any other alcoholic drinks, for that matter, but he was willing to bet this particular bottle, with "Hors d'Age" printed on the label, would be worth a month's salary, in the least.

Once each of them had a tulip-shaped glass of the drink in front of them, Tony raised his own, eyeing the amber liquid. "All right. The thing is. I," he began, and stopped, apparently for dramatic effect, "want you to climb Chomolungma with me."

The name was met with blank stares around the table, until Tony added, "The highest mountain in the world. Mount Everest."

Another second of stunned silence followed, and then Steve, Pepper and Rhodey spoke up at once:

"Everest? Tony, are you sure—" Steve said.

"Tony, that isn't—" Pepper said.

"Look, Tony, I can see that—” Rhodey said.

They all stopped, mid-sentence, their eyes met, and they burst out laughing. Tony joined in, shaking his head. Only Jarvis remained silent, eyeing Tony with a mildly disappointed look that made Steve instantly wonder what Tony wasn't telling them.

"Well, I can see you're very excited and not at all skeptical about this," Tony said wryly. "Trust me, I've looked into it, and it's doable. I've got several sources suggesting that the southern approach from Nepal might be easier than the northern route that earlier expeditions have attempted. It's just a question of careful planning and the right gear."

"And that's the only reason you want to go there? To be the first man on the summit of the highest mountain?" Steve asked him suspiciously. Tony certainly liked a challenge, but although he was an adept mountaineer, that was usually a means to an end for him, not a goal in itself.

"I can't keep anything hidden from you, can I?" Tony said. "Honestly, I wasn't planning on being the first. I think Rhodey and Pepper should be. Imagine the looks on the faces of those self-important British alpinists. Anyway, no, it's not the only reason. Have you heard of William Moors?"

The name meant nothing to Steve, but Pepper raised her eyebrows. "The deranged Brit who flew to India, tried to climb Everest all on his own, and disappeared without a trace?"

"Yes! Except that he didn't disappear without a trace, and I don't think he was deranged. Eccentric, probably. Foolhardy, definitely. But he was on to something. A later British expedition found his diary, abandoned on the mountain, and as it happens, I managed to get my hands on it," Tony explained, the excitement clear on his face now. "The things that he describes make every so-called lost city we've seen so far pale in comparison. The city of Haven, a place of wonder beyond imagination."

"Hasn't it occurred to you that he might've just been hallucinating the whole thing?" Rhodey suggested.

"That's what everyone else has thought, and I must respectfully disagree. There's too much detail. It's too convincing, and it seems to mesh with many other accounts I've come across, written by people that even you'd accept as sane," Tony said, pointing a finger at Rhodey. "Stories of the Yeti. Visions of strange buildings among the mountaintops."

"You want to climb the highest mountain on Earth, and find a lost city of Abominable Snowmen," Steve summarized.

"Yes, that's about the size of it," Tony announced brightly, and took a sip of his drink. "This really is exquisite, by the way. You should try it."

Jarvis, who had been following the conversation without a single word, finally spoke up. His gaze very steadily on Tony, he raised his glass, and said, "I think this calls for a toast. To Everest."

Tony looked back at Jarvis, the smile suddenly gone. "To Everest," he repeated.

"Everest," the three others chorused.

Steve knew better than to try and question Tony about whatever else was going on during the rest of the dinner. He also knew as well as everyone else around the table that they'd only be wasting their breath if they tried to talk Tony out of this mountaineering plan. He clearly had his mind set on it, and the more he talked, the more plausible it started to sound. His enthusiasm was catching, as it always had been. Over his years with Tony, Steve had developed a taste for adventure, and he had to admit that even without mysterious lost cultures or giant snow-apes, the prospect of those unparallelled heights was tempting. 

He waited until he was alone with Tony to take up the more serious conversation. He'd been suspecting something was up ever since Tony had returned from London; Tony had seemed subdued, and had spent even more time than usual in the workshop with Jarvis. At first, Steve had thought Tony was just catching up on what he'd missed while out of the country, but it had seemed excessive for that, and the odd tension he'd witnessed between Tony and Jarvis over dinner had only added to the feeling.

"Tony," Steve began, lying on his side in their bed, facing Tony, his arm flung around Tony's waist. "Was there something else you wanted to say at dinner?"

"Weren't plans to conquer Everest enough for you, love?" Tony said, reaching to comb his fingers through Steve's hair and ghost them down his spine.

"I'm serious," Steve said, ignoring the touch, as good as it felt. He wasn't going to get distracted. "And I'm not blind. I can tell there's something on your mind, and has been for a while. What happened in London?"

Tony pulled away his hand and shifted to rest on his back, not looking at Steve's face but at the ceiling. "Nothing in particular," he replied, although his expression said otherwise.

"But?" Steve prompted.

Tony stayed silent. He averted his gaze even further, facing the wall to his side, lips pursed, clearly struggling to keep his expression composed.

"Whatever it is, you can talk to me," Steve said. He wasn't sure what to expect, but this was starting to make him anxious.

Still looking away, Tony said, "I was going to tell you tonight. You and Pepper and Rhodey, but then I just—couldn't. Didn't know how to even begin."

"Tell us what, Tony?"

"About my heart," Tony said softly. It was possibly the worst answer Steve could've imagined.

"The repulsor pump?" Steve asked, a cold dread settling in the pit of his stomach. "Are you all right?" He ran his hand over Tony's bare chest to rest it next to the metal and glass cover, as if he could somehow discern what was wrong. But the device looked exactly as it had when Steve had first seen it, and the familiar thrum beneath his fingers felt as steady as ever.

"No, and no," Tony said, his chest rising and falling with a shaky sigh under Steve's palm. His eyes finally met Steve's again. The excitement of the evening and the languid smile he'd worn only minutes ago were entirely gone, replaced by a haunted look. "You know those aren't the same thing. The repulsor pump is an add-on, and it's working as perfectly as ever. It's just that I'm not getting any younger, or healthier." He recited the words as if he'd already been through this conversation in his head.

"You're telling me that—" Steve began, but couldn't continue the sentence in a way that he'd be willing to speak aloud.

"That I'm getting worse, yes," Tony finished on Steve's behalf. "That I'm going to die."

"But you don't look sick," Steve blurted out, embarrassed at his lack of tact as soon as he'd said the words. It was just that even though Tony had been distant, recently, and he'd seemed preoccupied—which was no wonder, now that Steve knew what had been on his mind—nothing about him had made Steve worry for his health.

"It's not that bad, yet. It's going to be gradual, and slow, but every test we've run says it's happening, and it's inevitable. We might be able to keep it at bay for some time, with improvements to the pump, but this isn't something we can fix, Steve," Tony said. This would be why he'd spent so much time with Jarvis, then, and why Jarvis had seemed so glum at dinner. "Hopefully I'll still have a year or two of more or less normal activity ahead of me," Tony added, "but it'll get worse, until I can't even dream of, say, climbing a mountain. Or a flight of stairs."

Suddenly, Tony's feverish need to go for the most unattainable summit in the world made even more sense. "Everest," Steve said aloud.

"Could you imagine a more dramatic last adventure?" Tony said, with the saddest smile Steve had seen on his lips. "And if we find Haven, who knows. Maybe there is a cure, after all. They're said to have technology decades ahead of ours." He didn't sound as if he believed it himself.

"Will you actually be able to do it, though? The earliest we can go will be next year. If you're getting worse…" Steve trailed off.

Tony sighed again, looking Steve in the eye. "I don't know. If only I did. What I do know is that I have to try, and I want you there with me. Consider it a slightly premature last wish, if you must."

That was a low blow, downright manipulative, but Steve couldn't feel angry, not when he hadn't even gotten over the shock of hearing the bad news. Still, his first instinct was to say no. He didn't want Tony to get reckless and take unnecessary risks, clutching at straws, looking for some mysterious city that most likely had never been there. On the other hand, he understood why Tony wanted this, and doubted there was anything he could say to make Tony give up his plans.

"Years ago, you told me you'd follow me to the Moon if I asked you to. This is just the top of the world. Not half as far," Tony went on, when Steve didn't say anything. It sounded like he was trying to play it for a joke, which was at odds with the desperate, pleading look that accompanied the words. How could Steve say no to that?

He would go, he decided, but not just because Tony wanted it. He'd go so he could make sure that Tony wouldn't push himself too hard, and that he'd come back home, no matter what it took.

"I meant what I said, back then. I love you, and I'll be there. I promise," Steve said.

  


* * *

  


#### Over the Atlantic, March 1952

"Look, over there! That's a bird, isn't it?" Barton said, pointing his finger at something outside the window, where Edwin could see nothing but clear blue skies and a few wispy clouds.

Wilson turned his binoculars towards the direction Barton was indicating, and whistled. "It's a bird, all right. _Ardenna grisea_. A sooty shearwater. Migrating towards the north, I bet. You really do have good eyes."

"Win some, lose some," Barton said modestly. He didn't need to gesture at the hearing aid he was wearing to make his reference clear; they were all aware of it already. Edwin was particularly familiar with the device, since he'd had a hand in the design process. "Certainly makes my job easier," Barton added.

Clint Barton was an acclaimed photographer, with a reputation of never missing a shot, and plenty of experience taking pictures in challenging settings. He'd asked to join the expedition himself, when he'd heard of their plans for the Himalayas, and they had all thought him an excellent addition to the team. It would be good to have photographs in addition to Steve's art. As soon as they'd learned of Barton's hearing loss, Tony had declared they needed to design him a new hearing aid, one better suited for the challenges of the high altitude and cold weather they'd be faced with.

Barton hadn't been the only one who had wanted to join the expedition, but none of the other hopefuls had been as well qualified, and they'd wanted to keep the party fairly small. That meant everyone would be climbing, except for Edwin himself, and that everyone should add unique skills and expertise to the group. There would be no tourists on this trip.

"Can I borrow those?" Rhodey asked Wilson.

"Sure thing," Wilson promised, and handed him the binoculars.

Sam Wilson had been recruited to the team by Steve, because he had solid experience in field medicine and wilderness survival, and was, in Steve's words, "very agreeable company". Rhodey seemed to be getting along with him exceedingly well. It wasn't surprising, as they had similarities that had nothing to do with outward appearances. They shared a passion for the natural world, with Rhodey particularly interested in botany and geology, Wilson in ornithology. They had both needed to abandon their chosen fields for many years during the War. In that, they weren't too different from Edwin, himself.

In a different, more peaceful world, Edwin Jarvis might have made a career in physiology, but then he had crossed paths with Howard Stark, and the circumstances had pushed him in a different direction, towards machinery rather than men. That, of course, made him uniquely qualified to work on projects such as Barton's hearing aid—or trying to keep Tony among the living. He wasn't entirely sure if that was a blessing or a curse.

Tony had been but a baby in Maria Stark's arms when Edwin had first met him, and over their long friendship, he'd often wondered whether he'd end up witnessing Tony's story from the beginning to the end. After all the times he'd seen Tony avoid what seemed like certain death, on so many adventures to some of the most dangerous places on the planet, Edwin was more worried than ever that the current trip would be the one where his luck ran out.

Edwin had protested in the harshest possible words when Tony had first mentioned Everest to him. That had been before they'd confirmed Tony's suspicions about his declining health, and it had nevertheless sounded like a reckless plan. High altitudes were strenuous even for perfectly fit men, which Tony had never really been. Now, even with all the fine-tuning they'd done to the repulsor pump setup and the supplemental oxygen they'd have available, Edwin saw the expedition as nothing short of suicidal on Tony's part. But Tony had his mind set on the climb, and that left Edwin in a position where he could either abandon his friend on what was likely to be his last adventure, or go along and hope against hope that they could somehow postpone the inevitable.

Currently, Tony had his shift steering the airship, and Steve was with him. All other members of the party—Wilson, Barton, Rhodey and Pepper, who sat writing in one corner of the salon, as dedicated as ever to her position as official chronicler—knew better than to disturb the two men. One was equally likely to find them sharing a passionate moment, or in the middle of a heated argument.

While all members of the party were aware of the relationship between the two men, the new additions didn't know about Tony's declining health, because in spite of Edwin's repeated requests, Tony had refused to tell them. Obviously, it was a private matter, but under these circumstances, Edwin saw the secrecy as a safety issue. It was particularly problematic since Wilson would be acting as their secondary medic, the primary one being Edwin himself. Tony argued that he didn't want them to treat him differently, which wasn't an entirely unreasonable concern. Edwin couldn't deny that his own attitudes and behavior had changed. So far, it had been easy for Tony to hold on to the semblance of normality; it still took quite vigorous exertion to provoke symptoms.

At least Tony had told Steve, Pepper and Rhodey, or rather, been pushed into telling them by Steve, which Edwin was exceedingly glad about. Steve shared Edwin's mindset of humoring Tony while trying to minimize the damage he did to himself. Conversations with him were often quite soothing to Edwin's overwrought nerves. Concerned as Steve was, he still managed to be reassuring—when Captain America said he would keep someone safe, it was difficult not to believe it.

Perhaps it wasn't entirely misguided to hope that together, they could make sure Tony wouldn't meet his end on the mountain.

## Nepal, 1952

[](http://68.media.tumblr.com/2fdab3f474f4fd488fe43397d8210eda/tumblr_oh5yw03kX81vu3dz7o2_1280.png)

#### Camp I

Even though Tony had been to the Himalayas several times before, the first views of the Roof of the World in all its snow-capped glory were more than enough to send a shiver down his spine. The beauty was deceptive, though: he knew the spectacular heights would offer them countless obstacles later on. They also meant a challenge at the helm, since they needed to wind their way through mountain passes and to navigate around turbulent winds in very thin air. They had never taken the airship this high up for such a long stretch before, but Tony wasn't worried. There were few things he trusted as much as his ability to make mechanical things work. No, his fears were entirely focused on fragile human physiology.

On a misty March morning, they landed close to the village of Namche Bazaar, at 11 286 feet. It was the last proper village on the way towards Everest, and the highest point they'd estimated they could safely reach by air. The cluster of white, two-storied houses on a terraced hillside was a common starting point for expeditions into the surrounding mountains, and the local people were used to foreign mountaineering parties. They cordially welcomed what the press had named the Stark-Rogers Expedition.

They stopped in Namche for a full week. It would offer everyone an opportunity to get used to the altitude before moving even higher, and there was plenty to do. They needed to unload the considerable amount of gear they had brought, to buy more food and supplies, and to organize all of it so it would be easier to carry. Although they were more self-contained than most earlier Everest expeditions had been, closer in style to the American expeditions to the Karakoram, they still needed to hire a few dozen Sherpas to help them in the task of moving their belongings on the approach, and a select group who would climb with them on the mountain. They'd also decided to pay some of the villagers to watch over the airship—not that it was overly likely that anyone would try to steal or sabotage it out here, but it wouldn't do to simply abandon it in the valley.

On the evening of their third day, which Tony, Jarvis and Rhodey had spent entirely on armor maintenance and Sam and Clint on cataloguing and packing ropes, pitons, carabiners and other gear, Pepper and Steve returned from a recruitment round with perplexing news.

"We've had two people today mention rumors of another party on Everest," Steve said once they'd all sat down around the campfire in the middle of their huddle of tents.

"What other party?" Tony asked, alarmed. "That can't be right. We have the only permit for this spring."

The Nepalese government was quite unrelenting on the matter. They would only allow one team on the mountain every year, and most years, that would be a British one. Tony was eternally grateful to Pepper for securing their permit from in front of the noses of the Englishmen. Her diplomatic skills were beyond compare. He doubted anyone else could have pulled off the feat, and without it, his plans would have been nipped in the bud. Next year would've been too late for him, by far.

"A large foreign party. Neither of our contacts knew any details," Pepper was now saying, looking uneasy.

Of course it would be a foreign party—while the local people were strong climbers and used to the altitude, they lacked the resources, and more importantly, a reason to go for the summit. To them, these mountains were sacred dwellings of gods, not trophies to be won. What foreign nation would it be, though? From his British contacts, Tony had heard they had chosen another Himalayan peak, Cho Oyu, as their consolation prize. Could it be the Swiss? Or the French? There weren't many countries that boasted enough experience in alpinism to even consider taking on Everest.

"Well, they can't have passed through here, or more than two people would know about it," Rhodey noted.

"Is it possible that they could be climbing the North Face?" Sam suggested.

"I very much doubt it," Pepper said. "The Chinese government isn't letting anyone into Tibet."

"If someone's taking the same route as us, we'll find out soon enough," Jarvis said.

"It might just be some kind of a misunderstanding," Clint said. "Maybe someone heard about us earlier and got things mixed up."

"Whatever it is, let's keep our eyes and ears open while we're here," Tony said.

"The most important thing is to focus on our own climb," Steve declared, with finality.

Every time Tony met new people during their stay in Namche, he made sure to inquire after this mysterious foreign party, but neither he nor any of the others learned anything more. A handful of locals repeated the rumor, but there were no additional details. It sounded as if Clint might have been right: maybe one person had misunderstood something and begun spreading the story around. Tony tried not to fret about it, telling himself that he didn't even care about claiming the first ascent. He was far more interested in finding Haven, not to mention sharing an unforgettable adventure with the people that meant the most to him.

The day they left the village, everyone came out to watch them go, and Tony couldn't blame them. The expedition made for a proper parade, with seven Americans and thirty Sherpas. Although Steve had shared his secret identity with the world a few years ago, he rarely wore his costume on these kinds of adventures, but today, he'd decided to make an exception. Perhaps even more exciting to the villagers than Captain America were Tony and Rhodey, or rather, Iron Man and War Machine, in full armor. Between the three of them, they were carrying almost half of the expedition's supplies. Despite the heavy loads, they could've covered the distance to their Base Camp-to-be, the foot of the Khumbu Icefall, much faster than the rest of the group, but moving too fast would've been foolish: the trek would see them climb over 6000 feet in altitude.

The week they'd spent in Namche had been enough to make Tony feel quite accustomed to the altitude, but the ascent made its effects evident again. He was glad to be wearing the armor. Not only did it take away some of the physical strain of hiking, but it also came with an oxygen system, which made a huge difference even at a low flow rate.

Tony was convinced that supplemental oxygen was what would make or break this climb for him. They'd brought both regular open-circuit and experimental closed-circuit oxygen sets, all of them custom designed and built by him and Jarvis to the highest standards, using experience gained from the military, and their own work on the armors. Tony would happily state to anyone who asked that they had the best oxygen equipment any Everest expedition had ever had.

Oxygen was a controversial topic in the mountaineering community: many considered a climb with oxygen less of an achievement than without it. Tony had even heard people go as far as to call it cheating. He found these attitudes nonsensical. If using ropes, crampons and ice axes wasn't cheating, what made oxygen different? Not that he could've chosen to go without, even if he'd wanted to. He knew he wouldn't last a day at extreme altitude without it.

He was certainly starting to feel the altitude they were gaining. Though the days of walking in the armor were fine, it was a different matter when they set up camp in the afternoon, or when he got up each morning from the tent he shared with Steve. He was light-headed more often than not, and constantly breathless, and often found himself wondering how he was supposed to tell apart what passed for normal for him under these circumstances, and threatening mountain sickness.

  


* * *

  


Clint wasn't a novice to mountaineering, but he had never been to the Himalayas before, and he'd never been even close to altitudes such as what they'd be faced with. At 17 500 feet, their Base Camp, also known as Camp I, would be above the summit of Mont Blanc. Unless something unexpected happened to slow their progress, it shouldn't take long until they would also surpass the height of Mount McKinley, which was his previous personal altitude record.

The hike from Namche Bazaar to Camp I included views that were truly breathtaking, and not just because of the altitude: over the days, they advanced from forested high valleys with rivers in deeply cut ravines to sparser vegetation and finally bare, steep rock and snow-capped summits. They passed tiny villages—barely more than a few huts—and the monastery at Thyangboche, where they participated in traditional ceremonies as was the custom, whether you believed in any of it or not. Clint didn't, but he appreciated the novelty of the experience, and got a few interesting pictures out of it.

All through the trip, he always had his trusted camera close by. The opportunities for beautiful shots were endless, and he wanted to make the best of it, on the approach as well as on the mountain. His worst fear, aside from the usual avalanches, falls, mountain sickness, and losing appendages to frostbite, was running out of film. Especially with Captain America, Iron Man and War Machine around, he had already captured several unique frames that any newspaper would pay good money for.

The days they spent walking, the nights they always stayed in their tents, even when other alternatives would've been available, which Clint regretted. Not because he had anything against camping, which he was very accustomed to, but because he would've liked the chance to capture more of the local everyday life on film. But Jarvis, the man who was running the expedition behind the scenes far more than the pair whose names it carried, insisted on it, citing hygiene concerns. For the same reason, they only ate their own food, and boiled and filtered all their water. Practically all previous parties here had suffered from a cavalcade of stomach bugs and colds, and they wanted to avoid such nuisances if possible.

"Any one of you starts getting unusual headaches or a cough, you tell me right away," Jarvis had announced on their first night after leaving Namche. "And anything else you suspect might be of concern, again, let me know. I may not have an MD next to my name, but I have more field experience than many of those who do, and I will do my damnedest to make sure each and every one of you goes home from this expedition in one piece and under their own steam."

Jarvis had looked at each of them in the eye, then, the six Americans and the six Sherpas who would join them on the climb, and Clint had decided Jarvis was someone he really wouldn't want to cross. Oddly enough, the stern stare had seemed to linger on Stark for slightly longer than anyone else. Clint wouldn't have thought the world famous adventurer required additional reminders on such things. Then again, on the way towards base camp, Stark did appear slightly under the weather. Some people acclimatized better than others, no matter how experienced; perhaps Stark was unlucky on that account.

All in all, the impression Clint had gotten of Stark so far was different from what he'd expected, based on all the rumors he had heard, and the odd Marvels issue he'd picked up. There were occasional flashes of brashness and wit, but a lot of the time, Stark seemed preoccupied, and kept to himself. Clint felt like he hadn't gotten to know the man at all.

He’d had more success socializing with the rest of the team, and decided he should also learn to know the Sherpas they'd be spending a lot of time with on the mountain. They knew little English and he had no knowledge at all of the Sherpa language, but that didn't bother him—he was used to figuring out alternative ways of getting his message across. Their personalities definitely came through regardless of the language barrier.

The Sirdar, or the leader of the Sherpas, was Gyalzen, the oldest and most experienced of the six. He also knew the most English, having worked for a pre-war British expedition as a boy. At the other extreme was Nawang, the youngest, eager to prove himself. Ang Seni, the only woman, was quite surprised she'd been selected for the climbing party, since she knew this hadn't been the custom of earlier expeditions. Dorje and Lhakpa Clint mentally renamed as Happy and Grumpy, for obvious reasons. And finally, there was Tashi, with whom Clint struck up a particularly close friendship, because they were both very fond of practical jokes. They made a few truly memorable ones, like driving a herd of yaks to gather around Stark and Rogers' tent one morning, so that the expedition leaders woke up to find themselves surrounded.

After a week's walking at a fairly gentle pace, they arrived at the foot of the Khumbu Icefall. It was a barren, rocky place, with the glacier looming close enough to touch. None of the pictures and descriptions Clint had studied beforehand had prepared him for how vast and threatening that expanse of constantly shifting ice truly was. Even at night, when he lay awake without his hearing aid and the background noise of the living glacier wasn't there, he could occasionally feel a shiver run through the ground when a particularly large piece broke off somewhere.

Though crossing the ice would be their first step in the way towards the summit, the strategy Stark, Rogers and Jarvis had picked for their expedition was not to rush. Once they'd set up the camp that would be their home for the following months, they intended to spend another few weeks doing shorter trips in the surrounding area, getting to know one another in action, and honing their mountaineering skills. The importance of getting used to the altitude and the lower oxygen content were cited once again. Clint felt like this point got repeated _ad nauseam_ , but then again, he couldn't deny that it was an important one. Better slow and well-prepared than quick and dead.

  


* * *

  


"It's going to hold. Just you watch," Tony said, taking his first step onto the ice bridge spanning the seemingly bottomless blue depths of the crevasse.

"I'm watching," Steve said. "And I'm going to keep the rope tight."

"No faith at all," Tony muttered, and took another step, leaving the solid ground behind.

Steve's gloved hands clenched on the rope attached to Tony's waist. Their only way across this thirty-foot-wide crack in the ice was certainly flimsy enough to almost seem like a thing of faith. This was why they had the rope. He wouldn't let Tony fall. There was no risk, not really, except of smashing against the icy walls.

The third step had the ice crackling under Tony's thick boots, but it did hold, with only a handful of ice crystals breaking off and floating towards the darkness below. A few more steps, and he was over, with a complacent "Told you so!"

"I never said I didn't think it'd hold," Steve noted. "Besides, I'm heavier than you. We're not out of the woods yet."

"Well, come on, then, big guy, follow the leader," Tony said.

"That's co-leader to you, Mr. Stark," Steve had to retort, as he too inched his way across the tongue of ice.

They'd been under way for half a day now, their goal the high pass of Lho La, right at the border of Nepal and Tibet. It was a fairly challenging climb, and a good way to test the waters, as it involved both crossing ice and some technical sections with bare rock. So far, so good: Tony had been leading the way all day, and he seemed to have gotten over the strain of the trek to Base Camp, keeping up a good pace as they crossed the treacherous ice and scrambled up slopes.

They also had a secondary objective to this climb. They hoped that from the pass, they'd be able to catch a glimpse of the other side of the mountain, to make sure that the rumors of another climbing party were unfounded. There had definitely been no one else at the southern face, the route up the mountain just awaiting for them.

By the afternoon, when they reached the saddle of the pass, Tony was obviously starting to tire, moving more slowly and stopping more often.

"You feeling all right?" Steve couldn't help but ask.

Tony rolled his eyes in reply. "We've had this conversation already," he said, panting between every few words, but his voice unwavering. "If I'm not, I'll tell you. You need to trust me on that. I'll let you know. I'm fine. Just tired. Anyone would be."

"Right, sorry," Steve said. "Glad to hear that."

Tony was right: Steve couldn't compare his own endurance to Tony's. With the abilities the serum had given Steve, the altitude didn't affect him nearly as much as it did everyone else. It had been a long day. Being tired was normal. It was just that over the years Steve had spent with Tony, there had been a few too many close calls where Tony hadn't said anything when he should've, where he'd nearly run himself into the ground, out of power, and only survived by the skin of his teeth. But he seemed quite intent on having learned that lesson by now, which meant Steve should quit worrying so much.

Tony had started moving again, heading for the northern edge of the pass, searching for a good vantage point. Once he'd found one, he raised his binoculars—and groaned aloud. "Oh, come on. You can't be serious."

"What is it?" Steve asked, though it was easy enough to guess.

"See for yourself," Tony said, handing him the binoculars.

A quick look confirmed the bad news: there was a camp on the Rongbuk Glacier, at the foot of the North Face, and it wasn't a small one, either. There were at least three times as many tents as their own camp had, and Steve could see a fair number of people bustling around them. There seemed to be several climbing teams higher on the glacier as well. You couldn't mistake it for anything else than some kind of a major expedition.

Steve's eyes landed on the flag flying above the camp. Though they were too far to see much detail, the colors were easy enough to recognize, and the golden shapes on the red flag clearly weren't the stars of China, but the Soviet sickle and hammer.

"It wasn't just a misunderstanding," Tony said gloomily. "There's another party on the mountain, all right."

"The communist party," Steve offered the punchline to Tony's words. "I had no idea the Russians were interested in Everest."

"Me neither," Tony said. "But it does explain how they managed to get a permission to enter Tibet from the Chinese."

"They look like they're pretty serious about this, too," Steve said.

He hadn't seen this climb as any kind of a nationalistic thing; the race for the summit wasn't why he was here. He was here for Tony, first, and the thrill and adventure second. But looking at the ordered rows of Soviet tents, he couldn't help but feel that previously almost nonexistent competitive spark flare into something far more intense.

"Well, there may be more of them, but that's not always better," Tony said firmly. His face had taken on a determined, dark look, and Steve was willing to bet Tony's thoughts had followed a line similar to his own.

"I'll be damned if I let a Russian team get to the top first," Steve declared.

"I'd expect nothing less from Captain America. We'll show them how to climb this mountain properly, and in style," Tony said.

  


#### Camp II

"Russians. Of course it's the Russians, I should've seen that coming," Pepper commented, pursing her lips at Tony's first words back at Base Camp.

After a night spent on the mountain, Steve and Tony had made their way down with only a few minor mishaps on the way. Overall, Tony was very happy with how well he'd done. So well that he'd even ventured to try climbing without oxygen for a short while, but that had been pushing his luck; he'd almost fainted. He wasn't overly worried about that. They were still in the early days, and not yet used to the altitude. Looking around at Base Camp, everyone seemed a little tired, and got winded more easily than usual. That was to be expected. Tony had gone up to almost 20 000 feet yesterday, and he'd been okay. He could do this.

"It doesn't change anything," Steve said adamantly. "We won't even see them from where we climb—they're on an entirely different route. We won't be crossing paths. We've taken a good long look at the southern face, and I'd say our route is just as feasible than theirs. We let them climb their side of the mountain, and focus on ours."

"They may have the advantage in numbers, but our gear is undoubtedly superior in every way," Tony added. "Besides, there are few people on the planet with as much experience in all sorts of unusual situations as we have between us. We can win this fair and square."

"Win this, eh? Do I need to remind you that this isn't supposed to be a competition?" Jarvis said, giving Tony another one of those solid stares that seemed to be the expression specifically reserved for him these days. "I distinctly remember you saying that you're not here to be the first man on that mountaintop."

"Well, I'm not, but I'd rather it was an American," Tony muttered defensively, as Jarvis pointed a discreet finger towards the medical tent. Time for a recharge, and the usual interrogation and once-over to assuage Jarvis that he wasn't about to keel over in the immediate future.

Over the next few days, driven by the sight of the massive Soviet camp, the Stark-Rogers expedition began their assault on the mountain in earnest. Unlike the short, lightweight acclimatization trips, this was a major undertaking where they would slowly set up a safe path through the precarious, constantly shifting frozen maze of the Khumbu Icefall. Their goal was to find a site for their second camp, either at the upper edge of the ice, or at the start of the Western Cwm, a broad glacial valley named by the first British reconnaissance expedition. Once they'd established Camp II, they'd then have to spend several days carrying up supplies—and then repeat the process several times, constantly pushing higher. There would be five or possibly six camps altogether, progressively getting smaller as the approached the summit.

The original plan had been to use the armors to speed up the operation for as long as they could. Beforehand, Tony hadn't expected the Icefall to be that much worse than the many glaciers he'd visited before, with undulating ice broken by the occasional crevasse or climb. They'd made a number of adjustments to the armors, such as making them as lightweight as possible, and installing crampons on the boots. As with the oxygen, if some purist mountaineers decided to have a problem with that, Tony didn't care.

Their first encounter with the Icefall during the climb to Lho La had been enough to convince him that the plan was fundamentally flawed. The armors would be no good here: they were far too heavy and too clumsy for such a tricky environment. The mountain wasn't going to allow for shortcuts. They'd have to handle all the heavy lifting on pure muscle power.

The Khumbu Icefall wasn't a long hike across a blue-white plain; it was a constant struggle through an ever-changing labyrinth of treacherous ice, with more scrambling and climbing up near-vertical walls than walking. There were countless crevasses, often so wide that their only alternative was to make long detours, and entire forests of seracs, ice pillars high as houses, always threatening to collapse on the unwary. Wide stretches of the Icefall were unstable in their entirety, so that every step might lead to the ground suddenly giving way underfoot.

Every day out on the ice, Tony felt grateful for the skilled team he was climbing with. Steve, of course, was in his own league, but Rhodey and Pepper were at least equally competent when it came to cutting steps up tricky walls of ice. Clint had an almost preternatural talent for seeing the best line through difficult terrain. Though Sam was the least experienced at mountaineering, he was a quick study, and next to Steve, seemed the least bothered by the altitude. The Sherpas they'd hired were an exceptional group as well, each adding their talents to the mix—from Gyalzen's sure-footedness on the trickiest of ice-bridges to Dorje's unwavering optimism. It would never have occurred to Tony to treat them as mere porters.

To make sense of the icy maze, Steve began sketching a map of the area they had covered. Over the days, it filled up not just with many spots marked as too dangerous to revisit, but also with names that told many stories of their own, such as "Apocalypse Alley" and "Nightmare Creek". Clint's embarrassing but harmless slip into a crevasse at "Clintastrophe", almost making up for the yak prank, was counterbalanced by his later success at climbing the intimidating "Barton's Barrier". Another crevasse was crossed on "Stark's Stairway", an ice bridge Tony engineered out of massive ice blocks that Steve had helped move around.

After a week of brilliant sunshine and many days that grew much too hot by midday, a building storm forced them to turn back earlier than intended. They were already at the outskirts of the Western Cwm, at an altitude where they could start setting up camp as soon as they found a nice spot for it. Tony hated having to turn around, but he knew how bad the weather could get up here. Indeed, on the way back to Base Camp, the visibility began to deteriorate, until they were half worried they might lose their way.

When Tony first heard the sound, he thought it was just the wind, which often sounded eerily like a wailing human voice. But ahead of him, Steve had stopped, and turned to look at him.

"You hear that?" Steve asked. "Someone's shouting for help!"

  


* * *

  


The Black Widow didn't have to act to appear distressed; they'd certainly not been planning on ending up in a blizzard. It was lucky, in a way, since it would make for a dramatic entrance, and no doubt would have the Americans more willing to help.

They stumbled through the white haze, she and the Winter Soldier, moving towards the area where they'd seen the Stark-Rogers team members earlier, when visibility had been better. If they failed to cross paths with the Americans, the consequences could be serious. The temperature must have fallen below -20 °C, and the wind made it even worse. Although nothing meant as much to her as serving her country, she'd rather keep all her toes and fingers.

"I'm going to shout for help," she told him. "We might not make contact otherwise."

"Agreed. Let's do that," he said.

It was the right choice: only minutes later, another pair of climbers stumbled to meet them through the whirling snow. They were difficult to recognize with the thick down clothing, not to mention the oxygen mask the slightly shorter, slimmer man wore—until he lifted it aside to make his voice more audible over the wind, revealing the facial hair the Widow had learned to associate with Stark, the expedition leader himself.

"Where the hell did you come from? Who are you?" Stark shouted.

"Natasha Romanova," the Widow told him. Their civilian names would be more readily accepted, and more fit for their cover story.

"James Barnes," the Soldier said.

"Bucky?" the other American cried out, the shock evident on his face. This man was tall and broad-shouldered, and going by that response, he had to be the co-leader, Steve Rogers. They hadn't just stumbled upon any two American climbers, but the two most important ones.

"Steve!" the Soldier replied, sounding suitably astonished.

They'd counted on this. Rogers should be the most receptive of the entire group, due to the history the two men shared. The Soldier stepped closer, spreading his arms in an invitation to a hug, and Rogers went for it, embracing the Soldier tightly. It was a peculiar sight to the Widow. The Soldier did not hug. But the Soldier did what the mission asked for, so this was all in the script.

Stark was standing further away, his body language speaking of hesitation and doubt. It was to be expected that he'd be more difficult to convince of their good intentions than Rogers. "You're from the Russian expedition," Stark said, his voice just audible; this was clearly a statement, not a question.

"We were, but not anymore," the Widow said, making her voice as resolute as she could.

"That so?" Stark returned.

"Please, you have to help us," the Soldier pleaded, stepping back from Rogers. "We have nowhere else to go."

"We can't just abandon them out here!" Rogers said.

In spite of his doubts, Stark was just as sympathetic as one was to expect from these soft-hearted Americans, and agreed with Rogers. The foul weather was certainly serendipitous to the mission. Without further discussion, the Widow and the Soldier followed the expedition leaders straight into their Base Camp.

By the time they reached the foot of the Icefall, the weather was slightly better, and the Widow got a good look at the enemy camp. It was much smaller than their own, as she'd been told, and seemed less orderly. However, she was quite impressed at the efficiency that they were met with. They were instantly ushered into the medical tent, and looked over by the Americans' medical officer to confirm that they'd not suffered frostbite and did not show signs of hypothermia or mountain sickness.

Once they were sitting comfortably on air mattresses, wearing warm, dry clothes, holding hot drinks, with blankets around their shoulders, it was time for the interrogation that the Widow had known to expect.

"So, you're saying you've abandoned your expedition?" Stark asked, standing in front of them, still emanating suspicion and disbelief.

"It wasn't our expedition," the Widow told him. "We were assigned to be a part of it. We never had a choice."

"Me even less than her," the Soldier added, his eyes not on Stark but on Rogers, who in turn had kept his gaze fixed on the Soldier all along. It was as if Rogers didn't even acknowledge that anyone else was in the room, not the Widow, not Stark, nor Jarvis, the expedition's physician.

"Bucky—I thought you were dead! How can you be here?" Rogers asked the question that must've been burning in his mind ever since they'd met.

"The Russians picked me up, and they, well, I guess you could say they saved me," the Soldier explained. He raised his left arm, flexing his metallic fingers. "I lost my arm when I fell; they gave me this. And they forced me to work for them. I tried to resist, but in the end, I had no choice." The haunted look on the Soldier's face, implying torture and horror, was very convincing.

Rogers stepped closer, clearly appalled, but before he'd said anything, Stark spoke up. "Why escape now, though? You must've had other opportunities. Why here? Why today?"

"Trust me, the opportunities were not many," the Widow said. "Before we got here, we were part of a special training program where we were imprisoned most of the time and watched all of the time. This was our chance. We'd been planning on this. We knew there was an American team out here, and we wanted to join you. Last night, we had a chance, and we took it."

"They're hardly the first Russians to defect," Rogers pointed out. "And Bucky's not even Russian. Of course he'd want to escape. They risked their lives being out in that storm. If they were being watched that closely, they also took a huge chance by leaving their team behind."

Rogers was playing straight into their hands. It was better than the Widow could have hoped for.

Stark's eyes narrowed as he looked from Rogers to the Soldier. "It still sounds a little too convenient to me."

"Tony," Rogers said, finally averting his eyes from the Soldier to look at Stark, a wealth of emotions on his face. "This is Bucky, for God's sake! You know how close he was to me. It's him. I'd recognize him anywhere. What would you have us do? Tie them up? Send them out into the storm?"

"Of course not!" Stark exclaimed, sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "We'll have to think about this some more."

Stark's suspicion was going to complicate matters slightly, perhaps slowing down the mission, but it was hardly an insurmountable issue. Together, she and the Soldier had worked in more challenging circumstances many times before.

She could've already killed both of the enemy leaders a dozen times, as wary as Stark was, but they were not here to eliminate the competition. The mission was simply to sabotage, to hinder the Americans' progress, and to make sure they wouldn't reach the summit. They'd have to be careful not to make the American expedition look like a heroic struggle against the powers of nature; the goal was to make it look inadequate and badly planned, an embarrassing failure. The glory of conquering Everest would go to the nation who rightfully deserved it: Mother Russia.

  


* * *

  


"So, you don't find it at all suspicious that your long-lost pal conveniently appears from out of a storm?" Tony asked.

The tension between them was almost palpable; unlike on most nights, they weren't curled up against one another, but resting apart in their respective sleeping bags.

"It's unexpected, for sure," Steve admitted, his eyes open and facing the tent canvas though it was too dark to see anything. "I don't really know what to think. When Bucky fell—I thought there was no way he could've survived. But if you're implying he's some kind of a fake, I'm not going to believe that. He looks and sounds just like Bucky, and he clearly remembers me."

"Or he could just be saying that he does. He's been with the Russians since the War—who knows what's going through his head?" Tony said. "I'd love to be happy about your surprise reunion, but it's a little more complicated than that. We can't just welcome them with open arms."

This could all too easily turn into an argument, if Steve didn't tread carefully. He could see where Tony was coming from, but he couldn't help wondering if the suspicion was partly colored by jealousy. Tony knew that Steve and Bucky hadn't been in a romantic relationship, but he also knew they'd been the closest of friends, and having Bucky back was like having a beloved sibling return from the dead. Of course it was important to Steve. He might even say it was more important than climbing Everest.

"The way I see it," Steve began slowly, "we don't have that many alternatives. If they're telling the truth and we send them back to the Russian camp, that's almost like a death sentence. If we send them off the mountain on their own—where will they go? Try to make a living in Nepal, with nothing but the clothes on their back? Hike all the way to Kathmandu to contact the embassy and attempt to convince the officials of their good intentions, when they don't know anyone there? You can't possibly suggest we do that to them."

"I'm not. I wouldn't," Tony said defensively.

"I think it'd be best if they stayed with us," Steve said. "In Base Camp, with someone keeping an eye on them. Maybe they could help us. That's not to suggest that they'd climb with us, but they could do some of the basic chores, if they're willing."

Tony let out an unhappy sigh, and Steve could easily picture the frustrated look on his face. "Yeah, I guess you're right. If they really are genuine about their intentions, it'd be best for them if they could accompany us home, and we could help them sort things out. Which means we'll have to factor in two additional mouths to feed, and keeping watch over them will tie up one climber. Can't expect Jarvis to do that on his own, around the clock."

"You or Rhodey could make a quick trip to Namche for extra supplies, that'd only take a day or so with the armor, right?" Steve suggested.

"Sure, we could. Not like the armors are much good for anything else right now," Tony said.

"We can still move on with the climb exactly as planned. This doesn't have to slow us down. I know how much it means to you." Steve reached out with his hand, brushing his fingers against Tony's cheek, and Tony slipped a hand out of his sleeping bag to take hold of Steve's, lacing their fingers.

"And I know how much being reunited with Bucky means to you," Tony said, giving Steve's hand a squeeze. "We can make this work."

Steve had so far avoided the altitude-related insomnia that had plagued most of the other expedition members, but that night, he didn't sleep well. He was stuck thinking about Bucky, about everything his friend must've been through at the hands of the Russians.

Though he knew he'd had no reason to think Bucky might be alive, he still felt guilty. He had never even considered that alternative. He hadn't gone looking. Maybe he could've come up with a clue that would've led him to Bucky. He could've rescued Bucky and brought him home, and saved him years of suffering. He also wondered about the woman Bucky was traveling with, Natasha, and what her story might be. If she was with Bucky, that was the highest recommendation of anyone's character that Steve could think of.

The next day had been scheduled as a climbing day for Steve. True to his word, as much as he wanted to spend more time with Bucky, he woke up early to head to the mountain with Clint, Lhakpa and Dorje. Tony was having a rest day, and was still fast asleep when Steve crawled out of the tent. He knew Tony would stick to what he'd promised as well, and would be making the practical arrangements for having two additional people living at the camp.

It turned out to be a successful day for the expedition. The weather was still cloudy and quite cold. The ice had shifted in one place, which meant they had to replace a rope and cut some new steps, but they powered through the obstacles and made a fairly quick ascent in spite of them. By the end of the day, they'd chosen a location for Camp II in the Western Cwm, at around 20 000 feet. And yet, all through the day, Steve constantly felt distracted, his thoughts in Base Camp, with Bucky.

The first thing he did back at Base Camp, after greeting everyone and having a snack, was to find Bucky and take him to a private spot, to finally be able to talk to him properly. It was incredibly strange, sitting across from him. Bucky looked older, of course, and he carried many scars that Steve hadn't seen before, not to mention the metal arm. No doubt there were many other scars that were not visible, nor even physical.

Steve had so many questions and things to say, he didn't know where to start.

"I knew you'd be here," Bucky said, breaking the momentary silence. "But it's still almost impossible to believe this is real."

"Tell me about it," Steve said. "I thought you were dead, and—Bucky, I'm sorry."

"There's nothing to be sorry about. What happened to me wasn't your fault," Bucky said steadily. "If you want to blame someone, blame the Red Skull."

Steve shook his head. "I should've come looking for you. I just never thought you could've survived."

"I almost didn't," Bucky admitted. "I don't blame you, I also thought I was done for. I was pretty banged up, and it left a mark on me. I've got to confess I don't remember everything from before, so forgive me if I've forgotten some of the things that we did together."

"That's okay," Steve said, and placed a hand on Bucky's shoulder. Oddly enough, Bucky didn't react to that at all, rather just looked at him steadily. He probably wasn't used to physical contact anymore, after the years he'd spent with the Russians. "It's been a long time," Steve added, withdrawing his hand.

"And I'm not saying I've forgotten you," Bucky said. "I never would." Finally, he gave Steve a small smile. That was much better.

"What about this woman who was climbing with you?" Steve went for an easy question.

"Natasha. She's remarkable," Bucky said fondly. "She is one of the top climbers in the country, and excels in many other sports as well. And in combat. You should see her. She's frighteningly skilled."

"She's Russian, right?"

"Yes, but she never volunteered for any of this, any more than I did."

"Are you—is she your girl?" Steve had to ask.

"She's not anyone's girl, but something like that, yeah," Bucky said, with another quirk of the lips, though it didn't quite reach his eyes.

Even though the conversation was pleasant enough, Steve couldn't shake off the feeling that there was a wall between them, a certain reserve in the way Bucky talked and acted. Maybe it was just because things had changed too much. Of course they wouldn't just fall back into the old friendship after ten years apart, which Bucky had essentially spent as a prisoner of war. Still, it made Steve sad, and he hoped that with more time, they could, if not regain that old friendship, then at least begin anew.

  


#### Camp III

Tony had to admit he was having a difficult time with this bizarre turn of events.

He didn't want to come through as self-centered. Of course, the whole damn expedition was self-centered—but he was dying, so surely he could be excused? On what'd probably be his last year of not being bedridden and unable to do much of anything?

The expedition had been his idea, and he knew it meant more to him than to anyone else on the team. He couldn't expect the same amount of dedication from anyone else, not even from Steve, no matter how close they were. Not even if Steve loved him. Which Steve had said he did, many times, over the years. Often enough that Tony had eventually begun to believe it, as difficult as it had been. Tony knew he could be charming, himself, but the way most people saw him, he wasn't the sort of person you'd want a long-term relationship with. That Steve was willing to stay with him, despite all his shortcomings, was nothing short of a miracle. Tony certainly loved Steve, with all his failing heart—and who wouldn't? Steve was such a lovable person, his strong stubborn streak aside. Perfect in every way.

Now, Bucky, on the other hand, was a wild card. Tony didn't know him well, at all; the three of them had served on all of two missions together before the one where Steve had lost Bucky, a mission that Tony had not been a part of. Steve and Tony had had other shared assignments afterwards, and Tony had seen the effects of the loss first-hand. He'd been there to hold Steve at night, happy that he could at least offer the simple physical comfort of closeness when he didn't know what to say. It had been a difficult time for Steve. He had talked a lot about Bucky and how much he'd enjoyed working with such a bright, brave young man.

Tony hadn't been jealous; he'd known Steve's relationship with Bucky had been different from the furtive romance he'd had with Tony at that time. There had been no romantic feelings between Steve and Bucky, but it had been a very close friendship, the strong bond of brothers in arms. Tony wasn't jealous now, either, or so he tried to tell himself. He was glad that Steve had his friend back. That wasn't what made him conflicted. It was just that the situation rang false to him—the pair had appeared from the enemy camp, after all.

On top of everything else, Tony worried that in spite of Steve's reassurances, the time and resources taken up by the situation would slow them down. They were on a schedule. They would need good weather to make a bid for the summit, and that wasn't a given. If they took too long, they'd get caught by the monsoon season, and then it'd be too late.

There would be another window later, in the fall, if Tony was still up for it, but there was no telling if he would be. So far, he was doing better than he'd expected. Then again, he had been taking it easy. He'd probably never been as cautious in his life. He'd been taking plenty of rest days, and always using oxygen while climbing. He was even sleeping with the mask on. He was doing everything exactly like he should, based on the best medical information they'd found while researching things at home, because he really wanted to have a chance at cracking this. Based on Moors's diary, the walls of Haven should be visible from the South Col, which was at around 26 000 feet. Even if he couldn't give the summit a go, he at least wanted to make it to that altitude.

Two days after their surprise visitors had emerged from the storm, after Tony had done a quick jaunt all the way down to Namche to fetch more food and whatever clothes and other supplies he could get his hands on, he joined the others on the mountain. In the meantime, they had established Camp II, smaller than Base Camp, but still with several tents and all the supplies they would need for venturing even higher. It rested at the start of the glacial valley of the Western Cwm. This part of the mountain was somewhat more welcoming than the Icefall, though the seemingly easy, undulating snowy plain still hid many crevasses, and tended to get unbearably hot on sunny days.

At the other end of the valley awaited the steep ice of the Lhotse Face, their next major obstacle. The goal for the day was to quickly make their way to Camp II and then reconnoiter the best route towards the foot of the face.

Tony had decided to go with a closed-circuit oxygen set today. These were heavier and more finicky than the conventional open-circuit ones, but the disadvantages were easily counterbalanced by the fact that they provided much purer oxygen, at a partial pressure that corresponded to sea level. It made a huge difference; the previous time Tony had worn one, he'd even been able to keep up with Steve—who, of course, so far hadn't felt the need to carry an oxygen set at all, choosing rather to take a heavier pack.

As luck would have it, they didn't even make it to Camp II.

They were around two thirds of the way across the Icefall, just at the start of Nightmare Creek, when Tony started to feel like something was wrong. He stopped, struggling to catch his breath, and not getting there. Of course, he thought it had to be his heart—though he couldn't understand why, since he hadn't been doing anything unusual, and he knew the repulsor pump was charged. He tried to keep going, hoping it would pass.

It took him another few minutes to realize that the problem might be in the oxygen set instead. He wasn't getting oxygen, because the set wasn't working like it should, which didn't make sense; every other time he'd used it, it'd worked just fine. He had checked it superficially in the morning, and noticed nothing out of the usual. He knew the system like the back of his hand, it should've been foolproof, there couldn't possibly be any blockages or leaks!

Whatever the problem was, he'd already wasted too much time to have any chance at troubleshooting it. He couldn't focus, he couldn't even think, because there was no air.

He fumbled to get the mask off his face. It was a tightly fitting one, and the thick gloves he wore made him clumsy, which obviously not being able to breathe didn't help with at all.

The thing about the closed-circuit sets was, he'd been breathing oxygen at sea level partial pressure, and the second he got rid of the mask, he was instantly up at 19 000 feet again and _there was still no air_. He couldn't deal with no air. That was the worst possible thing for him. His circulation was doing a subpar job moving oxygen around even on a good day, and this really wasn't one.

He landed on his knees on the hard ice, gasping like a fish out of water, his chest aching with the mismatch between his skipping heart and the repulsor pump.

Thankfully, Sam had noticed he was lagging behind, because he emerged by Tony's side, his hand on Tony's shoulder, asking, "Tony? What's wrong?"

Tony couldn't reply; all he could do was wheeze for air that wasn't there, one hand clutching his chest, the other reflexively clawing at the neck of his jacket, as if that would help.

Sam was still going with the questions. "Does your chest hurt? When did this start?"

He hadn't told Sam anything. Sam didn't know about his heart. Who knew what Sam would think was going on. For now, he did the most obvious thing and tried to push the oxygen mask back onto Tony's face. That would've been a good idea in most other circumstances, but would only make things worse now.

"Not working," Tony somehow managed to mouth, trying to shove Sam's hand away.

"Oh! That's the problem?" Sam said. He must've caught the drift. "Okay, wait, I've got another one."

After another eternity of useless, airless panting that probably only lasted for half a minute, a different oxygen mask appeared over Tony's mouth and nose. Unfortunately, the set Sam had been carrying to Camp II was an open-circuit one, and even at the highest flow rate, it wasn't the same. It helped some, but it was too little and too late.

Tony was vaguely aware of Ang Seni hovering close by as well, and of Sam telling her to hurry to Base Camp and bring Steve, because he wasn't sure if Tony could walk. Tony wasn't convinced he could, either, but Sam helped him discard the useless heavy weight of the faulty oxygen set, and they began stumbling back with Sam's arm around Tony's waist.

Afterwards, Tony was a little hazy on the details of the return trip; he'd been dizzy and incredibly tired, and Steve had probably carried him a part of the way, but eventually, he had somehow made it back to base, and to Jarvis, who gave him an even more severe glare than usual.

So much for doing well on the mountain, Tony thought ruefully, an oxygen mask still firmly on and both Jarvis and Steve fussing over him in the medical tent. Throw a tiny wrench in the works, and he was out. He still couldn't understand how the oxygen set had failed, but it wasn't entirely inconceivable. Even the best of designs could develop the odd gremlin in the field. The thing was, he knew for a fact that no one else would've been as badly affected as him. And damn it, he hadn't even been very high, and he was supposed to be well acclimatized by now!

He felt utterly useless. What had he been thinking, dragging all these people up here with him, if he couldn't even make it to Camp II himself?

  


* * *

  


Rhodey had been anxiously waiting for news since Steve had rushed out of Base Camp to Tony's aid, moving at a speed no one else would be able to keep up with. Ang Seni hadn't been able to give much detail in any language, except that Tony had looked bad and hadn't been able to breathe. That had been more than enough to make Rhodey extremely worried.

After a few nerve-wracking hours, news finally arrived in the form of a visibly disgruntled Sam who stumbled into the mess tent where Pepper and Rhodey sat.

"Hey. What's up? Tony going to be okay?" Rhodey asked him, not sure what to make of the expression.

"Well, he made it back and he's still breathing, so that's good, at least. Aside from that, hell if I know," Sam said, spreading his arms. "They kicked me out the moment we got to the medical tent."

Of course they would, Rhodey thought, annoyed. Even if Sam had been the one climbing with Tony at the time of the incident, and was more experienced in field first aid than anyone except Jarvis, Tony was still hanging on to his secrets.

"Any idea what happened?" Pepper asked.

"Your guess is as good as mine," Sam replied, plopping to sit down opposite to her. "Probably something to do with his oxygen set, though I wouldn't have expected it to hit him quite that hard. You might have better luck asking him or Jarvis."

An hour later, Rhodey stopped by at the medical tent to do just that. He found Tony curled up on a camp bed, still wearing an oxygen mask, with the charging cables connected to his chest—a more ascetic variation of an all too familiar scene. Jarvis wasn't around, but Steve sat on a camp stool next to Tony, his hand on Tony's head, gently combing Tony's hair with his fingers. Rhodey couldn't help but feel like he was intruding, even if Steve had told him it was okay to come in when he'd asked at the door.

Steve pulled back his hand and sat up straight, while Tony raised a hand to wave at Rhodey. "Hi, Jim."

"Tony. Feeling better?" Rhodey returned.

"Getting there. Turns out I react very badly to sudden loss of oxygen. Who would've thought," Tony said, with a bitter edge to his tone.

"You know, about that—I really think you should consider telling Sam—" Rhodey began, when a crash from outside that sent a shiver through the ground cut him short. It was a sound more sudden and brief than the typical Icefall avalanche.

"I am the Crimson Dynamo, and I demand to see the leaders of this operation!" a loud, metallic voice boomed in a thick Russian accent.

Rhodey rushed out to see that someone in armor bulkier than either of theirs, deep red from top to bottom, had landed at the outskirts of the camp. Behind Rhodey, Steve and Tony also stepped out of the tent. Tony had dropped the cables and the oxygen and pulled on a down jacket, but clearly it was too soon for him to be on his feet: he looked wan and was leaning on Steve.

"Sounds like we might be in for a fight," Tony said in a breathy voice.

"Yeah, and you're in no shape for that," Rhodey stated the obvious.

"You go get the armor, we'll try to figure out who and what we're dealing with, and stall him if needed," Steve said.

Rhodey hurried into the equipment tent, and Jarvis soon joined in to help him into the War Machine armor as quickly as possible.

As long as he didn't have his helmet on, he could hear the conversation outside through the canvas walls; only Tony's comments were too soft for him to make sense of them, but with the Crimson Dynamo's replies, he could easily guess. It was all quite predictable: the Dynamo was sure they were harboring the traitors, Barnes and Romanova, and wanted them handed over, and Tony and Steve did their best to deny any knowledge of the two, without success.

Rhodey reached the scene, fully armored, just in time to see the Dynamo raising an arm fitted with some kind of ray gun, shouting, "If you will not bring them to me voluntarily, I will force them out of their hiding place! If I must level your camp to get to them, you can only blame yourselves!"

Everyone but the defectors and Clint, who was currently keeping watch over them, had gathered to watch. The Sherpas stood further back, Pepper and Sam right next to Steve and Tony, who was white as a sheet, no doubt nearing the limits of his endurance, but making a valiant effort to look authoritative nevertheless.

"You want to fight, fight someone your own size," Rhodey announced, stepping up to face the enemy.

"Hah! You are no match for the Crimson Dynamo!" came the confident reply, and without further warning, it was followed by a bolt of whatever sort of energy his guns were shooting.

Rhodey sidestepped, the blast only glancing his arm and seemingly not damaging it. He had no way to return fire; they'd stripped the armors of all weapons for this expedition, to make them as light as possible, since they'd only expected to use them for carrying loads. He hurled himself towards the enemy. The others were unprotected, and his first and foremost goal was to lead the attacker further from the camp.

He first considered heading for the Icefall. Rhodey knew the most treacherous spots well, and the Dynamo's armor seemed much heavier than his, more prone to sink into the ice. But that'd be risky, and not a certain success, since Rhodey didn't know anything about his enemy's maneuverability. So, he picked the other direction instead, choosing to try and lure the attacker along the path leading away from the camp and towards civilization.

Despite the Dynamo's words, they seemed quite evenly matched. Since the rayguns weren't getting through Rhodey's armor, they ended up in the armored equivalent to a fistfight. The Dynamo had the weight advantage, his blows doing more damage when he got a hit through, denting Rhodey's armor and no doubt giving him a number of bruises that'd feel much worse later, without the adrenaline of battle. On the other hand, Rhodey was far more agile, and was able to dodge most of the swings while punching his enemy's hard shell many more times—for what little good that did.

Rhodey was desperately trying to come up with something he could use to turn the tables, because if this went on, he was more likely to come through on the losing side. Unfortunately, it turned out his enemy still had an ace up his sleeve.

"For the last time: hand over the traitors, or I will blow you to pieces!" the Crimson Dynamo roared. A compartment on the armor's shoulder opened to reveal a tiny missile—not unlike what Tony and Rhodey had often carried. Going by the size of it, Rhodey thought he'd probably survive a hit, but certainly not without injuries.

He looked around. At least he'd brought the enemy far enough from the camp that everyone else should be out of the blast radius.

"We don't have them," he said firmly, "and even if we did, we wouldn't give them to you."

The second he saw the flare of the missile launching towards him, he leaped aside, hoping against hope he could dodge it.

He couldn't tell how far it was when it went off with a blinding flash of light.

Then, there was nothing.

After what felt like a blink but must've been longer than that, he was roused by someone patting at his face none too gently. His faceplate was gone, but he couldn't make his eyes focus on the blurry double image of the person above him. He could still easily recognize it as Jarvis from the white hair, and Jarvis seemed to be talking, but the persistent ringing in Rhodey's ears was so loud he couldn't catch the words, and he felt too dazed to think of anything to say anyway.

  


* * *

  


Thank God, it turned out Rhodey wasn't as seriously injured as it had first seemed. When they'd run to him after the explosion and Jarvis had taken off his visor, revealing him unconscious and half his face covered in blood, Steve had feared the worst. But after a little coaxing, Rhodey had soon woken up, confused, with a head wound, a possible concussion, and a number of bruises—nasty, but nothing they couldn't handle.

The Crimson Dynamo must have suffered some damage as well, since the armored Russian had made a hasty retreat. That was lucky for the expedition. Rhodey's punches hadn't been doing much damage, and Steve doubted fighting the Dynamo with his shield would've been any more successful.

Both Rhodey and Tony spent the following night in the medical tent, under Jarvis's watchful eye. Steve joined them in the morning when they were having breakfast, sitting on the tarp floor. Jarvis sat on a stool to the side, sipping tea, and Steve couldn't help but grin at how much the scene resembled an adult watching over toddlers.

"Morning! Did you sleep all right?" Steve greeted them.

"Ugh, don't even ask," Tony groaned.

"What're you complaining about," Rhodey said, sounding equally disgruntled. "You're not the one who got woken up every few hours to check for brain damage."

"Technically not, but I woke up every single time and got my fair share of unwanted attention anyway," Tony said.

"Sounds like Jarvis is doing an excellent job, as usual," Steve said, amused. He had originally been a little uncertain whether they'd manage the expedition without an actual medical doctor onboard, but he couldn't have been more wrong; he'd come across doctors in the battlefield that hadn't appeared half as competent as Jarvis.

"I'm doing nothing more or less than is needed," Jarvis said. "Although it can be a chore."

Gripes over the medical attention aside, both men seemed better off and in better spirits than yesterday, but when it came to Steve's cautious inquiry as to when they'd be fit to climb again, Jarvis's opinion wasn't as optimistic as their own.

"Give me until tomorrow and I'll be good to go," Rhodey said, the bandage around his head making his words seem slightly doubtful.

"I'm good to go right now," Tony said. He was somewhat more convincing, since he no longer looked as pale as he had in the evening.

"Absolutely not," Jarvis declared. "I want both of you at Base Camp and taking it easy for at least another five days."

"Five days? That's ridiculous! I'm fine, or as close to that as I ever get," Tony complained.

"And all I've got is a nick on the forehead and a headache, hardly a serious injury," Rhodey protested.

"See what I have to put up with?" Jarvis sighed, casting a long-suffering look at Steve. "Yes, I'm being cautious, but that's what I'm here for: to be the voice of reason. Tony, until we can pinpoint what went wrong with the oxygen set, we can't rule out that this was some kind of a relapse instead, and we need to keep an eye on the situation. Rhodey, you know head injuries can cause problems at a delay. I won't let you up there until all symptoms have cleared up. At least five days, more if that seems necessary, and this isn't up for negotiation."

"Five days it'll be, then," Steve agreed.

"But—we're already falling behind schedule, and yesterday got cut short. With the two of us stuck in camp and everyone else still needing the occasional rest day—that's not enough people to catch up," Tony said, his eyes as pleading as his voice.

Steve had realized this might be a problem already, and he'd been thinking about it overnight. "I have a solution," he told Tony, "but I'm not sure you're going to like it."

"You can't possibly be thinking that we let them climb," Tony said, guessing Steve's plan before he'd even said it aloud.

It was the obvious way to go, really. "They're highly trained mountaineers, and they've been nothing but helpful ever since we met them. I know Bucky, and he's vouching for Natasha," Steve said. "We let them climb, and if they turn out okay, we have two additional climbers for the rest of the expedition."

"He's right," Rhodey put in. "It would make a lot of sense. Besides, you saw the Dynamo's attack, Tony. He was serious about it. Clearly the Russians don't want those two to be here."

"Or they want us to think they don't want them here," Tony said. "Call me paranoid, but I've been double-crossed one time too many."

Tony was right that they needed to be prudent. There was always the risk that the situation wasn't what it seemed. It was just that over the last few days, Steve had begun to truly grasp that Bucky was back, and he didn't like that his friend was for all intents and purposes a prisoner at Base Camp. Bucky should be allowed to join the climb, if he wanted to, and Steve didn't doubt for one second that he would.

"Nothing wrong with being cautious, but if we are to stick to the planned schedule, this is the only way I can think of," Steve said. "We can still keep an eye on them up there. We'll split them up. Bucky can climb with me and Natasha with someone else."

Tony reluctantly agreed, in the end, since it was either this or significantly slower progress. That decision done, Steve went straight to Bucky and Natasha, who were glad and excited of the prospect of getting back onto the mountain. They did a short trip to the Icefall that day, to start learning one another's climbing styles, and to recover the faulty oxygen set so Tony could figure out what the issue had been.

The odd thing was, they couldn't find the oxygen set. Ang Seni had been there at the time of the incident, and she was convinced they were in the correct area. Of course, there were many crevasses around, and the ice was constantly shifting, so it was possible it had fallen into the depths of the glacier. After over an hour of fruitless searching, they gave up and headed back to Base Camp. Tony was disappointed, and disheartened; this meant there was no way for him to figure out what had actually happened. More than that, they'd only had four closed-circuit sets to begin with, which made this a significant material loss.

The next morning, they took off early, and went beyond Camp II, advancing across the Western Cwm towards what was to be their next campsite. Steve was pleased with how their two reinforcements were climbing. Undoubtedly there were many things that could be said about the methods the Russians had used, but the training they had provided had clearly been efficient.

Over the following days, they stayed the nights at Camp II, and made good progress, although there were a few rather alarming accidents. One of the aluminum ladders they'd used to bridge crevasses collapsed, and Nawang narrowly missed falling to his death. Several fixed ropes had also come loose or even gone missing, leading them away from the safe path.

When Steve described these incidents over the radio, Tony got even more suspicious than before, suggesting that the Russians were behind it, sabotaging them. Steve couldn't believe that. They were always paired with someone else, under constant supervision; they'd have to have been preternaturally stealthy to achieve these things without being noticed. Maybe it was all just bad luck.

The strangest thing of all was certainly not sabotage. They discovered it right by the site they'd chosen as Camp III, in recently fallen snow at the foot of the Lhotse Face, on the fourth day since the events that had put Tony and Rhodey out of commission. It was a trail of the largest footprints Steve had ever seen. The prints led straight to the edge of a crevasse, and then disappeared, as if whatever had left them had fallen, or stepped, into the abyss.

Once they'd returned to Base Camp, Steve showed his sketch of the footprints to Rhodey and Tony, to be met with puzzlement from the former, and excited enthusiasm from the latter.

"If I had to guess, I'd say it's a bear print," Rhodey said thoughtfully. "I didn't think there would be bears that high up—not much for them to eat there. I really need to see that with my own eyes. I should be good to climb tomorrow, I hope it won't snow tonight so it'll still be there."

"It's not a bear," Tony announced, his eyes twinkling. "That, right there, is without doubt the footprint of the Abominable Snowman!"

  


#### Camp IV

The five days Jarvis had prescribed seemed to last for an eternity, stuck in Base Camp while the others were climbing. Tony was glad of their progress, but he desperately wanted to be closer to the action, because he couldn't feel like a part of it when all he did were light chores. Tony was a little annoyed at Jarvis for not accepting that the root of the problem had been the oxygen set—surely Tony could tell that it had felt different from the countless heart-related episodes he'd suffered in his life. Then again, he couldn't very well blame Jarvis's for taking an evidence-based stance.

Thankfully, his rest days passed without further incident, and finally Jarvis had to admit that Tony was in as good a shape as he'd ever be. Rhodey had also recovered well, and Jarvis concurred that it didn't look as if he'd actually suffered a concussion.

Unfortunately, by the time Tony and Rhodey had made their way up to Camp III, the Yeti prints were no longer visible. Still, Steve had seen them, and Tony trusted Steve's eyes almost more than his own. Clint suggested jokingly that maybe the Yetis had been behind all the equipment failures, because they didn't want humans on their territory. Tony found that a possible, though unlikely alternative—he was still more inclined to think the defectors were the culprits. But whatever that particular Yeti might have been up to, if there were Yetis around, that made it seem more likely that the expedition really was approaching Haven, which the Snowmen were supposed to be guarding.

They weren't far from the South Col, now, but the one obstacle separating them from it was intimidating: the Lhotse Face, the steepest section of their journey so far. After a night spent at Camp III, Tony was ready take on that challenge with Steve. Contrary to what its name might have suggested, the Lhotse Face wasn't a vertical rock face; it was a mile-high stretch of steep, hard ice, where they would have to advance with extreme care. If anyone on the rope slipped, they could drag the party into an uncontrolled tumble. This meant that before the expedition could advance into the Col, they would need to carve themselves a safe path up the ice, cutting countless steps and attaching fixed ropes.

Tony was wary of using a closed-circuit oxygen set again, after his mishap, but he knew he'd do much better on one. The open-circuit ones just weren't enough for him to keep up with the others at this altitude. He triple-checked everything in the morning, each valve, tube and connection. He couldn't help feeling envious of the others who still managed to climb without supplemental oxygen: Steve, of course, could do that, though at least he'd finally started getting properly winded. Bucky and Natasha weren't using oxygen, either. They had announced that they'd trained without it, and would prefer to climb as they were used to. That was fine by Tony. They had a limited amount of bottles anyway.

The first day on the Lhotse Face was entirely Steve and Tony's. As if to celebrate his return to the front line, the weather was brilliant: they set off to a sunrise on a cloudless blue sky. Ahead of them, the Face was an endless, inclined plain of pure white, as beautiful as it was deadly.

"You do the honors," Steve told Tony, "and take the lead. We can switch later."

"I'd be happy to!" Tony said, feeling as excited as he had on the first day here.

He swung his ice axe to chip off the first step, and off they went, inching their way painstakingly up the mountainside. It was a precarious place to be in, with nothing but the points of their crampons and the thin rope between them separating them from a potentially disastrous fall, and yet, Tony felt quite safe. Securing that rope was Steve, and despite the tension between them about the newest team members, Tony's trust in Steve was unwavering. He knew without doubt that if he slipped, Steve would catch him.

It only took an hour before Tony began to tire, his steady pace up the ice slowing to a crawl, the pauses between steps growing longer and longer. He was almost hoping it'd be another equipment failure, but a quick check of the oxygen set didn't reveal any issues. Soon, he had to suggest to Steve that they swap places. Constantly swinging the axe was taking too much out of him, every step as strenuous as running a mile at sea level. It was a major blow to the cheerful mood Tony had started the day with.

With Steve on the lead, Tony powered on, following the perfect, methodically cut footsteps for perhaps another hour, until he had to admit that he was too exhausted for them to go on safely. If Steve slipped—as unlikely as that was—he'd depend on Tony to arrest the fall, and Tony wasn't at all sure he'd be up to it. That left them with no choice but to return to camp.

Even though all conditions had been in their favor, the day had definitely not turned out to be the triumphant return to the mountain that Tony had hoped for.

That night in Camp III, the team had a serious discussion on how to proceed. Everyone agreed that Tony should have a shot at the summit, even though he insisted, struggling to keep his voice level, that he could live without it. Considering his performance, or lack thereof, today, it was agreed that he shouldn't be among those responsible for securing the route on the Face. Indeed, anyone who wanted to attempt the summit with plenty of reserves would do well not to expend too much energy on this earlier leg of the climb.

From the start, Tony had wanted Rhodey and Pepper to lead the summit push, which meant they should take it easy. It was also unanimously decided that two of the Sherpas should join that climb, and they quickly agreed that these would be Gyalzen, the most experienced, and Ang Seni, the only woman.

Neither Clint nor Sam had any pressing ambitions for the summit, and Natasha and Bucky were only climbing at the good graces of the expedition leaders, so the four of them plus the four remaining Sherpas could bear the brunt of the effort. Of course, Steve, with his unfairly perfect physique, could take part as well.

Tony knew the plan made sense, though he hated that it meant he'd be mostly stuck in camp again. At least at Camp III he was closer to the climbing effort. He dedicated his days to planning and organizing the upcoming carry of supplies to the South Col, which would take place as soon as the way was secured.

Progress on the Lhotse Face was slow, but eventually, the climbers set up Camp IV halfway up. From what Tony heard, it was a miserable place on a more or less level platform carved into the ice, where you had to pay careful attention when stepping out of your tent, to avoid falling to your death. There were no further equipment failures. Tony was even slowly beginning to accept the defectors as a trustworthy part of the team—only to find out that he'd been too quick to do so, as suspicious as he'd been.

That day, as on most mornings, Tony had his binoculars trained on the Face. A pair of climbers had just emerged from the tent to begin their daily toil: Steve and Bucky, off to a strong start, as usual.

Two mugs of hot lemon drink later, when Tony looked again, they'd stopped, and as he watched, Bucky slumped down on the ice. It seemed like he was curled up with his head in his hands. Steve soon noticed, turned around, and crouched by Bucky's side. Clearly, something was wrong, and they were in a really bad position for it. It'd been difficult enough for Tony to return to Base Camp from the Icefall after the oxygen set incident, and that had been a good 3000 feet lower than where Steve and Bucky now sat.

  


* * *

  


The Soldier enjoyed climbing, inasmuch the Soldier ever enjoyed anything. It was the simplest sort of physical challenge. Stay focused, pay constant attention to your surroundings, keep track of the other climbers, consider each step. This might be the first mission he had ever been on where he could say he enjoyed some part of what he was doing. The rest of it was as usual: pretend, lie, repeat words that you've been told to say to make people trust you, and damage things when you can escape their attention for a moment. This had been easier lower down. On the Lhotse Face, they were constantly in such close quarters that slipping away unnoticed was impossible. So, he climbed, and waited, looking for the next opportunity.

The Soldier told Captain Rogers—Steve—that they were friends, just like he'd been ordered to. That he remembered Steve. Sometimes he did, when he slept, but in the morning, there were only traces left. Whatever Steve had meant to him, he no longer felt any attachment. The Captain was nothing to him but yet another target. If the Soldier was attached to anyone, it was to the Widow, because the Widow was also serving the cause. The Widow understood him, and was just as dedicated as he was. They kept discussions concerning the mission to a minimum, only to coordinate the sabotage so that there would not be too many incidents.

The Soldier did not remember and he did not care, but that day on the Lhotse Face, James Buchanan Barnes did.

The previous day, the Soldier had felt less than optimal, with a constant, minor headache nagging at him, and his appetite entirely gone. Sleep took a long time to come, in the small tent shared with three other men in the middle of the Lhotse Face, and he slept poorly, with vivid dreams of war, dreams that must have been memories.

As always, they woke up before sunrise, and set off early towards new, unexplored ice. His headache hadn't gone anywhere overnight; it had only grown worse, and it was starting to hinder his progress. He was slower than usual. He felt shaky.

It had to be the worst headache Bucky had ever had. The sort that made him unable to think straight. Where was he? What was going on? There was ice everywhere, and the sun was too bright, even through the goggles.

The Soldier slumped to sit on the ice, his head in his hands. It was too much. He should be stronger than this. He needed to keep going. He had a mission.

The Soldier—why was he thinking that? He wasn't the Soldier. He was Bucky.

"Bucky? Bucky, talk to me. Is your head hurting?"

The voice calling his name was incredibly familiar, a voice from his dreams. Captain Rog—no, _Steve_. Steve was talking to him, sounding worried, and yeah, what the hell else would it be than his head, he wouldn't be gripping it with both hands if it didn't feel like his skull was about to split in half.

"Yeah," Bucky grunted.

Steve was by his side, all concerned, taking care of him.

The Soldier had been very successful in building up the trust, and Captain Rogers genuinely thought that they were—no, but they were friends! This was Steve, they had fought side by side in the war, they'd been best pals.

"Mountain sickness," he heard Steve mention, but that wasn't right, though something was very wrong with him. Or perhaps something was finally right with him.

He remembered the last few days. He'd been the Soldier. He'd been deliberately causing harm to his friends. And he remembered other things, like someone else's life, though it had been him. He'd done those things, over the years. He'd done so many horrible things. He had injured, he had killed, he'd been a good soldier in the enemy's ranks.

They had to get back to Base Camp, Steve was saying. They were on Everest. Steve was right, Bucky couldn't climb, not like this, not when he felt like he wanted to throw up, because it hurt so much and because he knew what he'd done.

He stood up, with Steve's help. Steve. There he was, that familiar face, the blue eyes hidden behind goggles, the pale skin covered with sunscreen, but the features still recognizable. As real as anything.

"God, Steve, I'm so sorry," Bucky murmured at him. Sorry for what he'd done to the expedition, and for all those people he'd hurt and murdered before.

The way back to Base Camp was endless, the pain in his head not relenting at all, not even with the painkillers they gave him at Camp IV. They stopped again at Camp III, with too many people around him, talking words he couldn't make sense of. He wanted nothing more than to curl up in a sleeping bag, to be alone with his memories, but they wouldn't let him. Mountain sickness, Steve reminded him, his voice breaking through the fog, could only be helped by going to a lower altitude.

Bucky stumbled onwards, following the pull and tug of hands guiding him. He thought it was Steve, mostly, but he wasn't really paying attention; his mind was in the past. Even the smallest of details that he saw could set off another memory.

The snow beneath his feet took him to a childhood day in Camp Lehigh, to a magical morning when snow had fallen and stayed on the ground and turned the drab camp into a winter wonderland. A glimpse of Steve's face and he was suddenly sneaking through the woods somewhere in France, constantly wary of enemy fire. He was everywhere and nowhere at once, until he wasn't entirely sure what reality was anymore. He knew that his head hurt, he was Bucky Barnes, and he was on his way towards some goal that he didn't know, sometimes walking on a level ground, sometimes climbing down steps on steep ice, and there were always ropes everywhere.

At the end of the march, steady hands finally helped him lie down. A stern voice that he couldn't place at all was asking him lots of questions. How long he had felt like this. If he knew where he was. If he knew who he was. He racked his pained brain for answers. Somewhere at the back of his mind, the Soldier was telling him that he was an agent of the Union of Soviet Socialist Republics, and he was infiltrating an enemy camp, and he should say nothing at all, but he knew that wasn't true. The Soldier had been someone else.

At some point, he must've fallen asleep, though the endless flow of memories never stopped.

He woke up to noise around him, to several people entering the tent he was in, many voices he couldn't recognize, and one that he could. The Widow. She sounded—different. Unlike he'd ever heard her. Emotional, almost in tears, her voice wavering when she replied to the stern man. To Jarvis, his Soldier memories told him. Bucky felt too tired to even sit up, and eventually, the voices faded away, and he fell asleep again.

When he woke up the next time, everything was very quiet, not the slightest sound of movement or speech in the camp around them, and there was dim light filtering in through the tent canvas. He thought he'd slept for some time, so it must be very early in the morning.

Only the remnants of his training as the Soldier kept him from jumping visibly when he realized someone was staring at him.

The Widow was sitting up on her camp bed, across from him, on the other side of the tent. In the soft light, he thought her eyes were glistening. He'd never seen her cry.

"Widow," Bucky said, in what was part greeting, part question.

"No," she replied. "Not the Widow. Call me Natasha."

"You can call me Bucky," Bucky said. "Or if you'd like, you could call me James."

Natasha stood up, her movements less graceful than usual, and crossed the few feet that separated them. She pulled up a camp stool, taking a seat by his bed. Bucky sat up to face her.

"You've remembered?" Natasha asked him.

"Yeah. Most of it, anyway. I don't know if everything will ever come back," Bucky said.

"I still don't remember very much," Natasha said, her voice soft and sad. "I was young when they took me. There's a lot that I've lost forever. Memories of my home and my childhood. And I still remember all the bad things I did."

"Me too," Bucky admitted. "But we're with good people, now."

"How can you be so sure? You don't really know them," Natasha said. Her hand had found its way on his knee, and he wasn't at all opposed to that. "When they find out what we were doing, maybe they won't want us here anymore. I wouldn't want myself around, if I were them."

Bucky placed his skin and bone hand on top of hers. Her fingers were delicate, and quite cool, and yet, he knew there was so much strength in them. He had seen her strangle people to death with those hands. He knew how dangerous she had been.

As the Soldier, he'd thought the Widow was a valued companion in the field, a formidable agent. As Bucky, he thought she was beautiful. They didn't really know each other at all, not their real selves. He didn't even know if Natasha was her real name. Still, they knew one another better than anyone else, and Bucky knew that Natasha understood him in a way no one else possibly could.

"I may not know all of them, but I do know Steve," Bucky told her firmly. "They won't turn us away. If we're honest with them, they'll help us. We'll be all right."

  


* * *

  


Bucky looked simultaneously more relaxed and more subdued than earlier: his shoulders slightly hunched, a haunted look on his face. He and Natasha were standing side by side, and they were holding hands, which was the first time Steve had seen them show any kind of physical intimacy.

"So, uh, what we have to say is," Bucky started, his eyes on a point somewhere past Steve's shoulder. He paused, as if steeling himself. "We were sent by the Soviets to sabotage you."

Next to Steve, Tony made a scornful snort. He didn't say 'I told you so', but Steve bet that was what he was thinking. "And the Crimson Dynamo?" Tony asked instead.

"That was for show, to make you more likely to cooperate," Natasha admitted. Her stance was more defiant than Bucky's, her voice less apologetic.

"So, the question is, why are you telling us now?" Steve spoke up. Would a bout of mountain sickness have made them turn their coats for real?

"Because we're not those people anymore," Natasha said. "Because we remember. I'm not the Black Widow, and he's no longer the Winter Soldier."

"We remember," Bucky repeated, his eyes finally meeting Steve's. "Steve, I remember all of it, now. When we first met, and you told me I'm too young to go to war. And when I last saw you. The last thing you said to me was 'hold on'."

Tony would probably think, again, that Steve was too trusting and too gullible, but if this wasn't convincing, he didn't know what was. Put together the look in Bucky's eyes and the emotion in his voice, it was as if that wall Steve had felt between them had been taken down overnight.

"This is all speculation, because this is about as far as you can get from what I know about medicine," Jarvis said, from his spot close to the tent flap, "but here's what I think happened: they weren't very well acclimatized. The Russians were in a hurry for the summit. And when the altitude started to affect them, it began to break down whatever conditioning they'd been subjected to."

"So, you're convinced this is genuine and not an even more elaborate ploy?" Tony asked, still sounding skeptical.

"I'm not sure of anything," Jarvis said tetchily. "Except that a horde of neurologists and psychologists could have a field day with these two, and that they should absolutely not climb after this. Whether they're trustworthy or not. We've no clue what that'd do to them."

That was an opinion they could all easily agree on. Bucky admitted he wasn't feeling that great, anyway, and had no particular ambitions about climbing. Natasha agreed, saying that conquering this mountain had never been something she'd particularly wanted to do. This meant they didn't need to further discuss whether the two were sincere or not. As long as Bucky and Natasha stayed in Base Camp, they couldn't affect what was going on all the way up at the South Col, whether they were telling the truth or not. If they weren't—Steve couldn't imagine what they'd hope to gain by putting up such a show. Sure, it had delayed the expedition by another few days, but it wasn't going to stop them from climbing.

Bucky, of course, wanted to apologize to Steve one on one.

"Everything I said earlier, that was all an act," Bucky said, sounding incredibly vulnerable, every bit as young as when Steve had first met him. "I didn't actually remember a thing. I was the Winter Soldier, a good Soviet citizen, and if I had some vague memories of you, they didn't mean anything to me. I used you, Steve. I knew you'd be susceptible to that. I know apologizing won't make that go away, but for what it's worth, I'm really, really sorry."

"Apology accepted, but Bucky, honestly, you don't need to. It wasn't you. They turned you into someone else. One day, we'll make them pay for that," Steve said. He wished he could just race over the pass to the north side of the mountain and punch whoever led the Soviet expedition in the face, but that'd be a major diplomatic faux pas on multiple levels, both against China and the Soviets.

Steve also felt like he owed Tony an apology. Even more so because Bucky had admitted that he had, in fact, done some difficult to notice damage to Tony's oxygen set, and that Natasha had later surreptitiously kicked it into a crevasse so they couldn't recover it and spot the sabotage.

"I shouldn't have brushed off your concerns about them so quickly," Steve said that night, curled up close to Tony in his sleeping bag. "I made their job a lot easier, and you paid the price."

"Nah, even if I was more suspicious than you, we agreed on every decision. I'm to blame as much as you are," Tony said. "The thing that annoys me most is that I didn't check that triple-damned oxygen set more carefully that morning. I should've noticed it had been tampered with. I've certainly learned that lesson now."

Despite all the conciliatory words, Steve didn't feel like the situation was fully resolved. There were many things left to say, both between him and Tony, and him and Bucky. Perhaps Tony and Bucky, as well—as far as Steve knew, the two hadn't had a candid conversation yet. But they'd have plenty of time on the return trip, and back home, even if they'd also have to juggle the newspapers and the bureaucratic challenges of showing up with two defectors.

For now, they had a mountain to conquer, with only so many days of good weather left. Tomorrow, they would make their way back to Camp III, and the day after, they could hopefully finish securing the route to the South Col, to set up their fifth and final camp.

  


#### Camp V

Tony hated the South Col.

Even following a path that had been cleared by others, it had been a tremendous struggle for him to climb all the way up. He'd hoped they could set off for the summit after a night's sleep in Camp V, but that didn't feel realistic, and they decided on a full day and two nights of rest, instead. At least that gave him more time to focus on his other goal.

For all the time and trouble they'd spent on getting to the Col, he felt like it should've been a spectacular and wondrous place. It was everything but. Yes, the surrounding peaks were beautiful, with Everest's South Summit almost close enough to touch. Yes, it was amazing to be here and to know that not a single human being had set foot on this rocky, lifeless ground, except possibly William Moors—which was still up for debate. But it was a desolate place, with unpredictable weather, constant wind, and so little air that every time Tony took off the oxygen mask, he felt like he should lie down and focus all his energy on breathing if he wanted to stay conscious, hoping his heart could take the strain.

Moors had written that one could see Haven from the Col, but no matter how much time Tony spent scrutinizing the surrounding landscape, he saw no trace of it. He had others look, too, Steve, with his peak human eyesight, and Clint, who could give Steve a run for his money and had his experience as a photographer to rely on, but neither of them saw anything that seemed built, either. Tony read through Moors's text again and again, but it didn't reveal any new secrets to him.

Maybe Rhodey was right, and Moors had never seen anything at all, just hallucinated with the altitude and the lack of oxygen. The only clues Tony had about the lost city's location were that it was closer to Everest than Lhotse, the neighboring summit, and that you could see it from the Col; now that he couldn't, he had no leads to go after. Just being up at 26 000 feet was taking such a toll on him that there was no way he could start exploring the area without a specific direction in mind.

It was irrefutably, depressingly obvious to Tony by now that this was the only shot he was ever going to get at the summit. It was already a long shot, and it was going to drain every last ounce of endurance that he had left. He'd have nothing to spare for another attempt—just descending to Base Camp would be a lot to ask. Seeing as he wasn't going to be getting any better, there was no way he'd be up for a repeat performance in the fall. It was now or never.

The first night at Camp V, the exhaustion of the climb helped Tony to sleep at least a little, even though the altitude made it fitful and restless. The second night, with the culmination of the expedition, of his entire adventuring career, awaiting in the morning, he barely slept at all.

When he crawled out of his sleeping bag long before sunrise, he was breathless, sore all over, and more anxious than he had been on many a day during the war. He wasn't about to let that slow him down. He fumbled for the primus stove, and started melting snow. Plenty of fluids, that was important. And all the sugar he could possibly stir into it. He would need the energy.

Steve had no doubt slept as soundly as he ever did, and as always, woke up battle-ready the instant Tony began bustling about.

"Morning," Tony said.

Still in his sleeping bag, Steve sat up and reached to place a hand on Tony's shoulder. "Morning. Feeling ready for it?"

"As ready as I'll ever be." He leaned back to kiss Steve on the lips, a quick peck, as he really didn't have the breath for more.

After breakfast, they stepped out of the tent together, taking in the weather conditions. It was windy, as always, and the dawn sky was overcast. Last night, Sam had radioed in from Camp III to convey the weather forecast from Base Camp. It had promised that they should be all right, as long as they got back before nightfall. If they didn't, well, they'd be deep in trouble either way.

Pepper, Rhodey, Ang Seni and Gyalzen soon appeared from their tents as well. The atmosphere was heavy with anticipation as they went through the motions, getting fully dressed, and making last minute checks of everything. Tony inspected each oxygen set as meticulously as he could. Closed-circuit sets for him, Rhodey and Pepper, open ones for the two Sherpas and Steve, who had decided that he had no reason not to use one—no man on Earth had ever been this high up, and it was better to take every possible precaution.

They set out in pairs: Rhodey and Pepper first, on one rope, then the Sherpas, and finally Tony and Steve. Tony knew he was the most likely to turn around early, so it made sense for him to be at the tail of the procession. Unfortunately, it meant that Steve would be stuck with him, but Steve had assured him time and time again that it was fine. Steve had even gone as far as to say that the most important achievement for him would be to see Tony safely off the mountain—which had made Tony swat him and tell him he was being ridiculous, while secretly wondering what he'd done to deserve this man.

The mostly flat plain of the South Col was all too quickly traversed, bringing them to the start of another steep climb. Already a good couple of hundred feet ahead, the leading pair were proceeding steadily, Pepper swinging her ice axe and Rhodey belaying her. Gyalzen and Ang Seni had no trouble keeping up.

Tony was struggling, from the first steps on the slope. No matter the amount of oxygen he was on, it still felt like he couldn't catch his breath, his heartbeat thunderous in his ears.

Jarvis had been right all along, a pessimistic voice in his head said. Tony shouldn't be here at all. He was in no shape. And yet, here he was, and he'd be damned if he gave up before they even got started. He'd done that many times on the earlier climbing days: admitted defeat as soon as he'd started to feel overtaxed, to conserve his strength. Not today. This was the day he'd been saving it for. As long as he could move one foot in front of the other, no matter how strenuous it felt, he'd keep going.

One step at a time, a long pause panting for breath between each, he ploughed his way upwards, through the snow and ice. Ahead of him, Steve was no doubt advancing much slower than he could've, allowing Tony the time he needed.

Tony had to keep going. This was all he had. When they left Everest and went back home—he had nothing to look forward to. No more adventures. And Steve—he couldn't shake the fear that he might lose Steve, too. Bucky was back, and Steve would want to spend more time with him. Why would he want to spend time with Tony, at all? Tony, who'd be slowly growing worse, and bitter about everything he couldn't do anymore? Heck, Tony didn't even want Steve to. Steve should go on with his life, which was likely to be a very long and healthy one, instead of being constantly held back by Tony. Just like Tony was holding Steve back now. Steve would probably be at the summit already if he could go at his own pace.

Several times, Steve stopped to ask if they needed to turn back. Every time, Tony shook his head, glad for the mask and the goggles covering his face, hiding how desperate he felt.

A few times, Tony raised his gaze to look for the other pairs of climbers. They were far above and ahead. He was happy to see them doing well. Better than he ever could.

Soon, he was so drained and so focused on the simple act of moving his feet that he forgot about the others. He almost forgot about Steve, too. His world consisted of the steps in the ice, the tips of his crampons, and the air that wasn't there.

He was startled when Steve's face suddenly appeared in front of him, Steve's hand grabbing his arm.

"Tony. We must turn around," Steve said, pronouncing each word very clearly.

"No!" Tony gasped. He could go on. He was still on his feet. He wasn't going to give up.

"The storm is already too close, and we're moving too slowly. We have to head back," Steve said.

Tony had been too focused on his personal struggle to pay any heed to the weather, but now that he looked up from the snow, the surroundings seemed to have grown darker. He took off his goggles. The clouds beyond the summit were thick and dark, blocking the sun. The wind was picking up, and there were snowflakes dancing in the air, promising much heavier snowfall to come.

Steve wasn't telling Tony to turn around because he was too sick and too slow. Everyone would have to turn around, or none of them would make it back to camp.

  


* * *

  


Pepper would gladly admit that she was an ambitious person, and during the year of planning and preparations for this expedition, she'd grown quite fond of the idea of being on the first team to summit the world's highest peak. All her life, she'd done a lot of work to prove that there was no reason women couldn't do all the things men could, and this was another great opportunity for that. There had been no women on the previous expeditions, except for some Sherpas, who had been treated as lowly porters, far from equal to the Western climbers. To have both herself and Ang Seni on the summit team meant a lot to Pepper, and she really, really wanted to succeed.

Alas, the mountain was not on their side. They'd been off to a strong start, she and Rhodey taking turns in hewing the steps to share the exertion more or less evenly. The weather wasn't perfect, but it was good enough, and the oxygen sets were working flawlessly. She could see Tony and Steve fall further and further behind, lower down, and felt a pang of concern for Tony. She could only hope Steve wouldn't let him push himself to a point where he couldn't make it back anymore. There was nothing she could do to help them, either way. Each of them would have to focus on their own climb.

The fair weather lasted for a good four hours, and saw them reach a level balcony on the mountain, with a magnificent view over the surrounding summits. They must be above 27 000 feet now. The tents of Camp V looked like miniatures. Incomprehensibly far below, the valleys were shrouded in mist, Base Camp hidden from their eyes.

"Pepper. Look," Rhodey said, the clipped words instantly telling her that something was amiss.

Her eyes fell on the approaching clouds, and that very moment, she knew that they wouldn't set foot on the summit today. She wanted to ignore the clouds and to keep pushing, because they were doing so well, but that would be foolish. Perhaps they could try again, another day. It was still early May, and they should have a few more days of good weather ahead of them. For now, the only safe thing to do was to turn around.

They motioned at Gyalzen and Ang Seni to stop, pointing towards the clouds. The Sherpas seemed to understand what the issue was, and headed downslope right away.

Far below them, Steve and Tony still seemed to be moving onwards.

They should've turned around earlier, all of them, Pepper thought. They knew how rapidly the weather could worsen at these altitudes, and they had seen those clouds at a distance, but they'd been trusting the weather forecast that had said the storm shouldn't hit until sundown, too enticed by how close the summit was.

As Pepper and Rhodey hurried down the slope, as fast as they dared, what began as a light snowfall soon grew into a proper blizzard. The visibility was falling rapidly, and the steps they'd cut mere hours ago were already covered in snow.

They caught up with Ang Seni and Gyalzen, and decided it would be safer to go on as one group, all on the same rope. At least they couldn't lose one another that way, and if one of them slipped, there were three others who could try to stop the fall.

They saw no sign of Tony and Steve as they descended. Pepper had expected to catch up with the two men sooner or later, considering how slowly they had been moving. Then again, with the visibility this low, the two teams could've passed one another without even realizing it.

The wind was making it much harder to advance, and the snow was hiding patches of ice, so that they had several near misses where one of them slipped. They had no landmarks to go on, but Pepper had taken a compass bearing before they'd left camp, and she checked it periodically. They were still on the right track. As long as they stuck to that and kept going down, they should be able to make it. If they could hold on for long enough.

Ice was sticking to every strand of hair that had escaped her hood, to her eyebrows and her eyelashes, and the exposed skin on her face had already gone numb. They wouldn't last much longer out here.

Their struggle against the storm seemed to go on forever. Just as she was beginning to wonder if they had gone the wrong way after all, and would keep walking until they fell off some precipice, they reached level, rocky ground. The South Col. They were saved!

This would make for a thrilling read, Pepper thought, even if they couldn't make another bid for the summit. They'd still been higher than anyone before them, and managed to escape the icy claws of the blizzard by the skin of their teeth.

In Camp V, light glowed in one of the tents that had valiantly stood against the raging winds. Huddled inside were Clint and Tashi, and for once, neither of them seemed like they had anything funny to say.

"Pepper! We'd almost given up hope!" Clint exclaimed when she appeared at the tent flap, quickly crawling in to make room for everyone else. "Are you all here? Are you okay?"

Pepper's heart sank. If Clint had to ask that, it could only mean that the two others hadn't made it back to camp. "We're all in one piece. Me, Rhodey, Ang Seni and Gyalzen," she told him. "No sign of Tony and Steve?"

The flash of relief on Clint's face quickly turned into a frown. "We haven't seen anyone. Earlier, we climbed some way up along the slope, hoping to spot you, to help if we could, but we couldn't see you. We stayed outside the tents and tried to call out for you until we got too cold and had to stop."

"They're still out there," Rhodey said, the concern heavy in his voice. "We have to go look for them."

Pepper shared the sentiment, but she glanced at him, the ice crystals clinging to his skin, his clothes covered in snow. She knew he must be as cold as she felt. They'd be lucky if none of them had suffered any serious frostbite. The visibility hadn't gotten any better, and the gale was still roaring outside.

"No climb," Gyalzen said. "Storm too bad."

"Can't climb," Ang Seni backed him up.

"You're right. We can't go back out there in that weather," Pepper agreed. "We can try to shout for them, but until the winds subside, they're on their own."

  


* * *

  


"Tony, we can't stop. Come on. We need to keep moving," Steve coaxed. 

Tony had slumped to the ground a minute ago, and Steve had to get him going again. They were on an exposed slope, the wind hitting them at full force. They wouldn't last long if they didn't find shelter.

Steve had already abandoned the hope of finding their way back to camp. They didn't have any landmarks to go on, and the visibility was only around fifty feet in each direction. They hadn't seen or heard anything of the others since the blizzard had descended upon them.

Tony tried to push Steve away, though his movements were sluggish and powerless. Steve wasn't sure Tony even knew where he was, anymore. It had been all too clear that he'd been running on fumes long before the storm had hit them. Steve should've made them turn around earlier. He had known that he should, that this was more than Tony could take, but he'd also known how badly Tony wanted this, and he hadn't. Like he'd promised, at the very beginning of the expedition, he had trusted Tony to be the judge of when he couldn't go on anymore.

If only Steve could grab Tony and carry him to safety, but he couldn't. Not in this position, in these conditions, when the wind made standing upright a challenge, and he was starting to feel tired himself. His fingers were going numb. If the cold was getting to Steve, it must be much, much worse for everyone else.

"Come on. We have to go," Steve said once more, and grabbed hold of Tony to pull him roughly to his feet.

"Steve." Tony's voice was barely audible, his hands landing on Steve's chest in another weak attempt to shove him away. "Go. Leave me. Go."

Those words made Steve feel colder than any snowstorm ever could. Tony still knew where he was, then. All too well.

Rationally thinking, Steve knew that Tony was right. If Steve went on alone, he'd have a much better chance of making it. He could move a lot faster. He still had plenty of strength left. But that wasn't something he was going to consider. He wouldn't abandon Tony.

"No. That's not an option," Steve said firmly. "We're both going. Come on! Move!" he raised his voice to a harsh growl.

Tony took one step, then landed on his knees—but at least he had moved. Steve put an arm around him, to keep him from sagging all the way down.

There was something dark looming slightly uphill from them, and Steve aimed for that. Dark meant rock, and rock meant shelter. They had to take whatever they could find.

They made their way across the slope, Steve switching his tone from warm and supportive to merciless and commanding as needed, cajoling Tony to take a step, and another, and another. If he'd thought they'd been slow on the way up, that had been a sprint compared to the current pace they were crawling at. Around them, the white haze was growing darker. Nightfall. It was about to get even colder.

A few paces before they'd reached what was indeed a small, rocky outcrop, Tony sank to the ground once more, curled up in the snow, and wouldn't budge, no matter what Steve said.

"Get up!" Steve shouted at a full battlefield roar. "Five steps. We're going to do this, Tony. Get up!"

Steve tried to pull Tony onto his feet again, but Tony wasn't taking any of his own weight, entirely limp in Steve's arms. With that, he finally realized Tony's eyes were closed.

"Tony! Wake up!" Steve barked, shaking him by the shoulders. Tony didn't respond at all, not even the slightest flutter of his eyelids, his frost-coated face expressionless.

Tony was unconscious. He was still alive. He had to be. Steve wasn't about to leave him behind. Tony would wake up again. If they could somehow make it through the storm, until sunrise, they'd be all right. In the morning, they'd see the route back down to the Col. The others would come looking for them. There was still hope.

They'd almost reached those rocks. Steve wasn't going to give up now. He grabbed hold of Tony, under the armpits, and started hauling him forwards.

In any ordinary circumstances, Steve could lift Tony without breaking a sweat. Here, it felt like he was trying to move the entire mountain. It came to him that his oxygen was probably running low, and he wondered if Tony's might have run out. Steve hadn't even needed oxygen lower down. Up here, things were different. Up here, everything was as strenuous as it had been before Rebirth, when Steve had still been skinny and sickly.

The outcrop, he found as he finally reached it, really wasn't much, a slight bump in the side of the mountain, but there was a depression that would at least provide some protection from the worst of the wind. There, Steve stopped, maneuvering Tony into the hollow and sitting down next to him.

Steve tried to check the gauge on Tony's oxygen set, but it was covered in ice. He jammed his nearly rock-solid right hand under his arm, and managed to pull his gloves off. His fingers were a patchy white and red, and he couldn't feel them at all.

He got his and Tony's oxygen masks out of the way, and crouched closer, his cheek over Tony's still face, hoping to put his worst fears to rest. He couldn't feel a thing—but that didn't necessarily have to mean much. His face was really cold, as well. He barely even felt the wind. He slid his gloveless hand inside Tony's hood, against his neck, but that was no good, either. He couldn't find a pulse, couldn't even tell if there was any warmth left in Tony's skin, because his own was as good as frozen.

Not bothering to put the gloves back on, he wrapped both arms around Tony, pulling him as close as he could, their foreheads touching. Not to share body heat, because they were long past that. Just to be close. Maybe Tony could still feel it, on some level, and know that he wasn't alone.

  


#### Haven

Tony woke up feeling great for the first time in months.

Everything around him was white. He was lying on a bed that felt unlike any he'd ever been in, the surface beneath him firm, yet still comfortable, somehow following the contours of his body perfectly. The white blanket covering him up to his armpits had an odd texture against his skin, like velvet or plush. The walls were featureless, windowless and doorless, which was vaguely ominous, but not half as disturbing as the stark contrast between this and the last thing he remembered.

He'd thought he was dying. He'd been too cold and too exhausted to move at all. So cold that the bottle of water he'd carried inside his jacket had been long frozen, and he'd felt the repulsor pump seize up. He shouldn't have survived that.

Steve had been there, too, and he'd refused to leave, even though Tony had told him to. Steve should've left him and saved himself. If Steve had died—

But Steve couldn't be dead, because Tony wasn't dead, he was here, wherever here was, and feeling better than he had in a very long time. Well rested and refreshed. The repulsor pump was running smoothly, his chest didn't ache, and breathing was easy. As if there was nothing wrong with him at all. He wasn't cold, and his hands looked fine, no signs of frostbite. He was sure he should've lost several fingers, considering how he'd felt.

A part of a wall slid open like a pair of curtains parting, folding away in soft pleats, and three figures stepped in: Steve and a man who looked vaguely familiar, though Tony couldn't recall his name, both dressed in flowing white gowns, and—the third figure gave Tony pause.

Its clothing was similar to the two men, but it was a head shorter than either of them, and its skin was covered in scales, as white as the room around them.

The realization hit him, sudden and overwhelming. He had read about such beings, in Camp V, a lifetime ago, those words in blurred ink that most people had considered delirious, describing the squamous skin of the unearthly inhabitants of the lost city.

He knew where he was, and he knew who the familiar-looking man standing next to Steve was. He'd seen pictures of that face: this was none other than William Moors himself.

"We found Haven!" Tony exclaimed before any of the three had said a word.

"I'd say Haven found us," Steve said, and crossed the small room in two long strides to pull Tony into a hug. "I thought I'd lost you, Tony," he added, to Tony's ear, his voice shaky.

Tony really, really wanted to kiss Steve, but with two strangers in the room—even if one was a man presumed long-dead and the other a mysterious being that might be a Yeti—he felt too self-conscious, after so many years of keeping their relationship a secret. He settled for returning the hug as tightly as he could.

"I thought we were both gone for sure," he told Steve.

"You would have been, if they hadn't found you, and healed you," Moors said, stepping closer to them.

Steve let go of Tony, and Tony stood up. He wasn't sure if he had any clothes, so he tried to hang on to the blanket, but he wouldn't have needed to: rather disconcertingly, the fluffy fabric slid up, wrapping itself around him, until it looked exactly like the gowns the other three wore.

"Huh, this is something I haven't seen before," Tony blurted out.

"You should prepare for plenty of surprises like that. William Moors," Moors said, and offered Tony his hand, as official as one could expect from a Brit in an alien city at the top of the world.

"I know. I have your diary," Tony said, accompanying his handshake with his most charming smile. "Tony Stark. What's his name, then?" he nodded towards the silent, reptilian figure that hadn't budged from its stance by the wall. Its face was entirely expressionless, as far as he could tell, and its eyes, which were just as white as its scales and had no irises, didn't even reveal which way it was looking.

"I call them Yetis. They don't have names, as we understand them, and they all think as one," Moors said, in words resembling his mysterious writings.

"Well, that sounds confusing," Tony said. "Anyway, thank you for saving our lives, all of you."

"You're quite welcome," Moors said. "I must admit I never expected anyone to actually find the way here. I wasn't even sure that bloody diary would end up in human hands. See, getting anything out of here is just as difficult as getting in."

"Are we prisoners, then?" Tony asked, taken aback.

"No, no, you're free to leave if you want to," Moors said, but there was a strange edge to his tone.

"You are standing at a threshold," the Yeti finally spoke up, or at least Tony assumed that was its voice he heard. Its mouth never moved, and the sound seemed to echo from the walls around them, everywhere at once, melodious, neither male nor female to his ears. "Choose to stay, and your days will be filled with discovery, your life long and healthy. You," the voice stopped, and the Yeti pointed a dramatic finger at Tony, "will no longer need that crude apparatus to sustain you."

"You'd heal me," Tony said, subconsciously placing a hand over the repulsor pump. Of course, that was exactly what he'd hoped for, but it sounded all too much like there was a catch. "In exchange for what?"

"For learning and understanding. For company," the voice replied.

"And if we want to leave, instead?" Steve asked.

"Choose to leave, and we will take you back to your friends. You will be alive, but no longer protected and restored by Haven, and you will not be allowed to remember anything that came to pass here," the voice said.

And there it was. "You're going to wipe our memories?" Tony cried out, incredulous.

"No longer protected and restored—you mean he's still going to be sick?" Steve asked.

"I'm afraid that's a yes, to both," Moors said apologetically. "Otherwise, the risk would be too great that outsiders learn of us, and come in great numbers. I was strongly chastised for putting the diary out there. Only in words, I assure you. Violence is not their way. There is no place more peaceful, more wondrous or more beautiful than this. I could've given up my memories and left, too, but why would I? I have everything I need here, and more. Come, let us show you!"

Moors and their nameless Yeti guardian took them on a tour, so they could witness all of Haven's wonders with their own eyes. Haven, they learned, had originally been a great space vessel that had arrived on Earth long ago, to study the planet. It was even more amazing that Tony had dreamed of, based on the vague descriptions in the notebook. 

There were great halls with windows that opened into the surrounding mountains, offering the most beautiful view any place on Earth could possibly have, without the lack of breath that most people had to suffer to witness it. They saw the Abominable Snowmen of the stories: large, fur-covered cold-weather suits that the Yetis wore when they ventured outside.

Inside the complex, which seemed to spread out endlessly, there were vast gardens that represented many different environments familiar to Tony. There was a jungle, warm and humid, like Amazonia, and a great boreal forest reminding him of Canada, and a pleasant, turquoise lagoon surrounded by palm trees, straight out of the Pacific. Tony even spotted birds and fish, all matching the habitats. Their Yeti guide's scales and the gowns they all wore changed hues to reflect the colors surrounding them, like the skin of a chameleon.

All around, the technology was so far beyond Tony's comprehension that it might as well have been magic. He couldn't imagine how the Yetis could maintain the gardens up here. In the countless white-walled corridors and galleries, the surfaces lit up at a touch to project words, images and films into the air.

Their tour ended in a room slightly larger than the one Tony had woken up in, with a table laden with food, and all their clothes and gear neatly arranged in one corner, on white shelves that seemed to grow out of the wall.

"I know this is a lot to take in—I've gone through the same thing myself. We shall leave you alone for now. Tomorrow, the Yetis will want to know what your choice is. Until then, you're free to continue exploring the city as you wish. If you need anything, just knock on a wall, and someone will show up," Moors promised, and left. The Yeti simply nodded at them, and followed him.

The food turned out to be perfectly familiar, not alien at all: salad, potatoes, meat stew, and fresh fruit, probably grown in those gardens. Moors must have had a hand in selecting and making it. After over a month on the mountain, living on rations, it was the most delicious feast imaginable, and yet, Tony was too distracted to enjoy it.

With the wonders they'd seen no longer occupying all his thoughts, the choice that he had to face weighed heavily on his mind. He had thought that if they found this place, everything would be all right again. He'd been so sure that this would be the solution that he'd been looking for, for so many years. Now, they were here, and these beings had the means to mend his heart—but the price for his health would be to stay in this magnificent but alien place forever. He could guess all too well how Steve felt about that.

"You don't think we should stay," Tony said, the plate of food half-finished in front of him, looking Steve in the eye. It wasn't even a question.

"Tony, I—" Steve said, pursing his lips. "It seems like a great place, but—there are still people out there who need us. People who need Captain America, and Iron Man, and Tony Stark."

"People like Bucky?" Tony said, trying not to sound as wretched as he felt.

"Yeah, well, it would be nice to see that he and Natasha get off to a good start at home," Steve admitted. "If we stay, everyone will think we died in that blizzard."

"If we go, I'm still going to die," Tony said bluntly. "Maybe not right away—though I won't have a lot of fun on the way back if they drop us at Camp V—but even if I make it down the mountain and back home, I won't have long. The people who need Iron Man, they'll just have to manage without. He's not going to be around. And we won't even remember anything about this place. I'll have gained nothing."

Steve sighed, and leaned his chin on his hands, covering his mouth, looking torn. "This really isn't what I want, at all, and I don't really want to say it, but—maybe you should stay."

"You'd leave me behind?" Tony said. He'd almost expected that. Weighing the costs and the benefits, it made sense. It also hurt; it made him feel like he was suffocating, almost as if he were breathing the outside air without a mask on.

"I don't want to," Steve repeated, "but Tony, I want you to be all right. I want you to live. This seems like the sort of place you'd enjoy. You could learn so much here."

"Without you," Tony said, his throat tight, his eyes stinging. "I don't want that. I might as well not live at all."

"Then don't stay," Steve said soothingly. "You don't have to. Of course not. It's your choice to make."

"I don't know how I can." Tony couldn't keep his voice from cracking mid-sentence.

"Oh, Tony. Come here." Steve stepped around the table to Tony's side, and pulled him close, arms warm and safe around him.

He couldn't lose this, Tony thought, burying his face in Steve's shoulder, hiding the tears that he could no longer hold back in the velvety fabric. He'd been ready to give up his life on the mountain, to die in the blizzard so that Steve could go on, and yet, now that he was given a choice, it was different. He didn't want to die, and he wanted what was best for Steve, but to stay here, alone, with Moors and the Yetis, while Steve would live the rest of his life thinking that Tony had died on the mountain—he only had bad alternatives.

  


* * *

  


After a long afternoon of tense radio calls to Camp V, with Clint replying every time that there was no sign of the climbers, Sam was incredibly relieved when it was Rhodey who responded instead. That relief lasted for all of two sentences.

"We're okay," Rhodey said over the hiss and crackle of the line. "Pepper, me and the Sherpas just got back, cold and exhausted, but otherwise fine. Steve and Tony—we lost sight of them. They're still out there."

"Copy that," Sam acknowledged, hiding his shock behind routine. "What's the plan now?"

"Not much we can do. The weather's too bad. We'll have to wait for it to settle before we can look for them," Rhodey said. The connection made his voice sound flat and didn't convey the emotions that must've been there, but Sam could guess how difficult it was for Rhodey to admit that there was nothing to be done.

"We'll head up there first thing in the morning, so we can join you," Sam promised.

Being lost in that storm, at an altitude higher than had ever before been visited, meant almost certain death, but Sam wasn't about to accept that so easily, and he knew the others wouldn't, either. Steve was probably the hardiest man alive, and although Tony was far more vulnerable—it was obvious he wasn't healthy, though he'd refused to tell Sam the details—his survival skills and smarts were second to none. Not to mention that both men were stubborn and tenacious to boot. If anyone could make it through a night up there, it would be those two.

As promised, the following day, Sam, Dorje and Nawang made their way to Camp V. Even climbing as fast as they could, it was a long day, close to eight hours. They had to admit that they wouldn't be much help in the search that afternoon, when just walking around felt like a significant feat.

Since they weren't looking for the lost men, they made themselves useful otherwise, and had food and drinks ready by the time the others returned to camp, without any news.

"No sign of them at all," Pepper sighed, her face ashen with the exhaustion of two consecutive full days out there. "There's been so much snow that any tracks they may have left are long gone."

"We're still going to try again tomorrow, right?" Sam asked.

"Yeah, of course we are," Rhodey said. "There's a lot of ground to cover."

They had no luck on the second day, either. It was draining work, both physically and mentally, especially since they were all aware they were searching for bodies now, not for survivors. They did not need to say it aloud; it was obvious that no one could have survived for multiple days in these extreme conditions, lacking food, water and oxygen.

Close to nightfall, they got entirely unexpected visitors. Lhakpa, who'd been staying at Base Camp to lend a hand to Jarvis, appeared at Camp V, dog-tired after a rushed climb. With him were three men they had never met, who turned out to be from the Russian team. Their expedition had also suffered heavily in the storm: they had lost four men, and another four had been seriously injured. Now, they were asking for help. More specifically, they hoped that "the armored one" could help in transporting the wounded. In return, these three could join the search for Tony and Steve. Apparently, Jarvis had told them that if the Soviets promised to leave Bucky and Natasha alone in the future, and if Rhodey was all right with helping them, they had an agreement.

Sam found this audacious, to put it mildly. After all the trouble the Soviets had caused them, they had the nerve to come asking for assistance? Still, he had to admit that the circumstances were unusual, and that it would be inhumane not to help. Rhodey was of the same opinion, and the next day, he and Lhakpa left the Col to make the long trek down to Base Camp and over the pass, to the northern side of the mountain.

In the Col, Sam, Pepper, Clint, three Russians, and five Sherpas spent one more day looking, going over the area they'd already covered for a second time with a fine-tooth comb. They never came across as much as a lost glove or an abandoned oxygen bottle.

Though Sam had known what a dangerous environment they were in, and had definitely considered the personal risks involved, it had never even crossed his mind that the morning when he'd said goodbye to the summit party in Camp III, less than a week ago, might've been the last time he saw Steve alive. He'd gotten to know all the expedition members well during their time here, and would happily call any of them his friend, but Steve had been close to him for much longer. Sam still couldn't entirely grasp that he was gone, especially when they couldn't find the bodies.

After three dispiriting days in the Col, they had to admit it was a lost cause. In a last-ditch attempt, they moved the search to lower altitudes. After all, it was possible that the men had strayed to a precipice and fallen down. But they came back equally empty-handed from the Western Cwm.

It wasn't entirely surprising that they found nothing. The mountain was vast, the search parties small, and the pair could easily have landed in a crevasse, hidden from sight, or buried in snow.

On the fifth day, they came to the reluctant conclusion that their search was a futile one.

There was nothing left to be done but to begin dismantling the camps, and to prepare for a long, joyless return journey.

  


* * *

  


"Wait. Hey. What if," Tony said, and stood up straight, pushing Steve away with a gentle hand on his chest.

Steve was confused—Tony had been close to tears, his head against Steve's shoulder, shaky and anguished, with good reason. Now, all of a sudden, he looked excited, as if he'd cracked some ancient mystery that had puzzled mankind for decades.

"What if, what?" Steve asked.

Tony gave him a rakish grin in reply, the sort that had always made Steve a bit weak in the knees. He hadn't seen a grin like that since the day when they'd started climbing the Lhotse Face. "What do you do, when you've only got choices you don't like?" Tony said.

"You choose the lesser evil?" Steve suggested.

"No, you don't!" Tony shook his head, with a mildly disappointed look. "You come up with something you like better!"

Steve frowned. They weren't exactly in a position to negotiate with their hosts. "What's that, then?"

"They said we're not prisoners, but whichever way you look at it, really, we are. So, we do what we always do. We escape," Tony said.

"But we don't know what that'll do to you! You may be feeling okay now, but if we make a run for it, that's probably just as bad as telling them we want to leave," Steve said.

Tony didn't seem worried at all, but shrugged, and said, "Maybe. We don't know that. Maybe I'll have bought myself some time, which is more than they're willing to give me if we play by their rules. And we'd get to keep our memories. I'd know that we succeeded. The things we saw today—even if I don't want to stay here forever, this is the most incredible place I have ever visited."

Steve wasn't convinced, and not entirely sure why that made such a big difference to Tony. "It's an awfully big risk to take, just for the sake of memories."

"Is it? If we fail, we'll just be back where we started from. Moors said the Yetis are very peaceful. Probably we'd get a telling-off, and face the same two choices again," Tony said. Steve had to admit that rang true. "See, if we go back with no memory of any of this," Tony went on, "I'll have failed the expedition. I'll die thinking that the last thing I did was a wild-goose chase. But if I remember this—that's the sort of high note I'd happily end my career on. Haven would be hard to surpass even if I had another twenty years of adventures ahead of me."

To hear Tony talking about his own demise like this, planning the ending to the story that was his life, was painful, and not something Steve wanted to think about at all, but it did answer Steve's unvoiced question.

"If you're sure about this, if this is what you want to do," Steve said, "then I'm with you. Let's make our own way out of here."

It was very convenient for this escape plan that the Yetis had given them all their gear back, the clothes clean, dry, and neatly folded. Even the oxygen bottles had been filled. Everything ready, in case they chose to return. They changed their gowns for the rugged mountain clothing, and took everything that wasn't strictly necessary out of their packs.

"Still remember the way to the hall with those Snowman suits?" Tony asked, shrugging on his pack, with the crampons and ice axe attached to it.

"I think so," Steve said, with a nod.

"Good, that makes two of us," Tony said. "I'm thinking there must be a way out through there."

This was so much like the many adventures they'd shared in the past, Steve couldn't help but feel thrilled. The two of them, sneaking out of a city of incomprehensible beings from outer space? Certainly straight from the pages of Marvels.

It was almost too easy. Though the walls looked solid, they were able to push through them at a simple touch, as if stepping through a stage curtain. The corridor beyond was empty and quiet. That wasn't too unexpected; they hadn't seen very many of the Yeti altogether. Perhaps there were only a handful living in the entire large complex. Not that it should matter if they were seen, since they'd been told they could explore at will, and surely the Yetis wouldn't mind if they preferred wearing their own clothes instead of those unfamiliar gowns.

At the sound of approaching footsteps, Steve's first instinct was to hide, but Tony shook his head, and slowed his purposeful walk to a casual stroll. The alien that appeared from behind the next corner barely seemed to register their presence, turning its head ever so slightly towards them, and continuing on its way.

"See? They don't mind us taking a look around," Tony said, raising his eyebrows at Steve.

"So far so good," Steve said.

They met no one else before they'd reached their goal. Just as when they'd last seen it, the hall was long and narrow, with half a dozen humanoid figures lining one wall. They were taller than Steve, and the material they were made of seemed like a longer-tufted version of the fuzz on the gowns and the walls. It wasn't exactly fur, nor did the headpieces look particularly ape-like, but it was easy to imagine how one could make that association out there, on the mountain, looking from afar. The figures were menacing, like silent guardians of this exit, as the two men walked down the hall. Even Tony was now sneaking on tip-toe.

The wall at the end of the hall didn't look different from any other wall in the complex, but when they reached it, the tension made the very air feel electrified.

Tony pulled up his hood, put on his gloves, and reached his hand towards the wall, his eyes twinkling. "Ready to break free, Captain?"

"Go for it," Steve said.

Instead of folding away like all the other walls, this one split in the middle at Tony's touch, all the way to the ceiling, and the halves slid slowly to each side, revealing the all too familiar view of an overcast mountainside. Going by the light, it looked like early afternoon, matching how long Steve would've guessed had passed.

Steve heard shuffling behind them, and glanced over his shoulder. One of the Snowmen closest to them had stepped out of the line by the wall, lumbering towards them, and further back, there were two reptilian Yetis jogging towards them.

"Tony! Run!" Steve exclaimed.

"Thought you'd never ask!" Tony said, and rushed out between doors that had already begun to close.

The chill and the thin air struck them as soon as they'd stepped out, and Tony hastily fitted the oxygen mask over his face. They had no time to get their bearings; they simply skidded along the icy slope ahead, hoping to put some distance between themselves and the Yetis that would no doubt be coming after them.

"I have no clue where we are," Tony noted when they finally stopped to take a look around.

"I can't recognize anything, either," Steve had to admit.

They'd ended up on a level stretch of ground: a wide, snowy ridge. Steve was sure he'd never been here before, and he couldn't even begin to guess which way the South Col lay. The valleys around them were all shrouded in mist. It was snowing, although it wasn't half as bad as the blizzard they'd been caught in the previous day. Looking back, the slope behind them seemed empty save for Haven's high, white walls that rose from the mountainside, disappearing into the low clouds above.

"They're not following us," Steve said.

"Maybe they think they don't need to," Tony said, sounding strained. "They might be right." He took one more step, and sank to his knees, one hand pressed over his heart.

So much for Tony buying himself time by escaping, Steve thought forlornly, hurrying to place an arm around Tony's waist. "They're not," he said. "We can do this. I've got you."

They staggered onwards, Tony leaning more and more heavily on Steve. It was as if they'd been thrown right back where they'd been before they woke up in Haven, just as desperate, with no sense of the right direction. To both sides, the ridge they were on seemed to drop steeply, with little hope of a safe descent. Ahead, it rose slightly until dipping down, and Steve had an awful, gnawing suspicion that they might be headed for a cornice hanging over the abyss.

They were still some thirty feet from the edge when Steve felt a shiver run through the ground. He stopped, wary.

"We need to go another way," he told Tony urgently.

They turned around, only to find that behind them stood a trio of Abominable Snowmen. They were tall and silent, the white eyes peering through the eyeholes eerily expressionless. They must have been following Steve and Tony after all, perfectly camouflaged against the snow.

"We're not coming with you," Tony declared, defiance in his voice, weak as it was.

"Let us go!" Steve shouted.

There was no reply, but the snow beneath their boots trembled again, and with the always terrifying crack of shifting ice, the ground gave way. Holding on to Tony with one arm, Steve tried to reach for a handhold, but the ice his fingers found crumbled as soon as he touched it.

Clinging together as if they could somehow protect one another, they fell, and everything was white and blue and cold.

## Epilogue

#### Over the Atlantic, June 1952

The contrast between their flight to Nepal and the journey back couldn't have been any greater, Edwin thought.

On the way in, the atmosphere on the airship had been full of nervous excitement, anticipating the upcoming challenges, but also the promise of great achievements and the unsurpassed beauty of the world's highest mountains. There was nothing left of that excitement, now. The seven travelers were bone-weary, and deeply dispirited, mourning the two friends they had lost on Everest.

Everyone was blaming themselves for what had happened, one way or the other, no matter how far-fetched their reasoning.

Edwin and Sam were going over navigational charts and weather information when Sam said, from out of the blue, "I should've insisted that Tony shouldn't be on the summit party. It was plain as day that he wasn't fit enough. I was the medic up there, I should've stepped in and made my opinion clear."

"Trust me, he wouldn't have listened to you," Edwin told him.

"If only I had known about his heart," Sam said.

"But you didn't, and he didn't tell you exactly because he feared you'd want to sideline him," Edwin said. "He brought this on himself."

Another day, they were changing shifts at the bridge, Edwin taking over the helm from Clint, when Clint said, "I keep thinking, if I had gone to look for them earlier, before the storm got too bad, I could've escorted them back to camp safely."

"I highly doubt that," Edwin said. "They must've been hours away at that point."

Bucky and Natasha undoubtedly carried more guilt than anyone else on the airship, considering their history, so Edwin wasn't at all surprised when one morning, the two approached him in the salon, and Bucky asked, "Do you think—if I hadn't sabotaged that oxygen set earlier, would Tony have been better off on that last day? Everyone says he was struggling and going really slow."

"Even when we were not ourselves, we didn't mean to kill anyone," Natasha added softly.

"Don't concern yourselves with it," Edwin said. "He shouldn't have been up there in the first place. That's not your fault."

And, of course, Rhodey and Pepper, who had known Tony the longest, had been the closest to the two men when they had gone missing, and had been the last to see them alive, probably felt the worst out of the lot.

"I just can't stop thinking we shouldn't have let them fall so far behind," Pepper said, at the end of yet another subdued dinner. "We were much too focused on the summit—that was stupid, and selfish and reckless."

Rhodey looked her in the eye, and nodded. "I feel like that, too, all the time. Even though I know I shouldn't. Can't help wondering if they'd still be alive if we had turned back earlier."

Edwin understood where the sentiment was coming from, but he was, frankly, starting to grow weary of all the constant second-guessing and self-reproach. "I've said this before, but clearly it still needs to be repeated: you are _not_ to blame for what happened to them," he said, to receive only sullen looks and sighs, with no indication that the words had actually been accepted for what they meant.

He knew he had a reputation for being grouchy, but for all that, Edwin rarely lost his temper. Now, with all that had passed and this endless gloom they were stuck in, he was finally reaching a breaking point. "Everyone on this ship needs to stop blaming themselves!" he declared, slamming his hand on the table. "If you want to blame someone, blame Tony. Him and his overly ambitious, irresponsible plans. I said from the start that this was foolish. I should have refused to have anything to do with this. With his heart the way it was, climbing at such an altitude—if he wanted to throw himself off a mountain, fine, that was his choice to make, but to make us all a part of it—and Steve—"

Rhodey had placed a steadying hand on his shoulder, and he realized he was shaking with simultaneous anger and grief. Edwin Jarvis didn't cry. He hadn't since he'd been very young. And yet, he felt as close to tears as he ever had.

He stood up, brushing Rhodey's hand away. "Sorry about this. I'll be in my room, if you need me."

Reeling with the outburst that had been building up for days, Edwin escaped to the silence of the cabin that he had to himself. His thoughts a thousand miles away, he sat down heavily in the chair by the desk and buried his face in his hands.

He was so, so angry at Tony. It felt wrong, to feel like this about someone who had passed, whom he already missed dearly, and had loved like his own son, but he couldn't help it. Blaming anyone else made little sense, as the expedition had been Tony's from the start, even if it had also come to carry Steve's name.

In a way, Edwin had made his peace with potentially losing Tony before they had even landed in Namche Bazaar. He had considered it a likely outcome, and he had suspected Tony had done the same. Despite Edwin's repeated attempts to convince Tony that there was more to life than constantly running headfirst into danger, that he could still enjoy his remaining days even if they were somewhat less active, Tony hadn't been able to see things that way. It had seemed obvious that he would've preferred simply never coming back—which he had achieved, but with the most terrible price.

Edwin knew Tony would never have wanted to take Steve with him. Whatever had happened, he could imagine Tony begging Steve to leave him behind, and Steve refusing to do so.

Over the years, Edwin had come to appreciate and love Steve just as much as he had Tony: not only as a member of his team, but as a part of his family. Never, for one minute, had he considered that Steve might also lose his life on this expedition. Steve, who had been such a stabilizing influence in Tony's life, and who had been so adamant that he could make sure Tony came back home from the expedition, safe and sound. Unlike Tony's dashing charm, which had never had much effect on Edwin, Steve's charisma had been of a more mature and sensible sort, enough to make Edwin begin to believe Steve could achieve this. He had grown so used to how invulnerable Steve seemed, with that air of confidence in everything he did, paired with his great strength and unique healing capability, that he had forgotten Steve was also fallible, and mortal like the rest of them.

Edwin had worried about how Steve would cope with losing Tony, when clearly he had never accepted that he might, as Edwin had—but it had never occurred to Edwin that he could, himself, lose both of them. It was such a blow, he wasn't sure if he would ever truly feel like things were back to normal again.

And what had they gained from this ill-advised expedition had cost them so dearly?

Edwin wasn't sure whether Tony had truly believed he might find this mysterious Haven that he'd set out to look for. They certainly hadn't spent very much time on the search. None of the surviving expedition members had seen anything resembling ruins or buildings of any sort on the mountain. Steve's sketches and Clint's photographs of the Yeti footprints were their only mementos of anything out of the usual, and those were hardly convincing evidence of a mysterious lost culture. Moors's diary had been in Tony's pack when he had gone missing. Edwin was only glad to be rid of it. At least it should keep anyone else from losing their lives on the same futile quest.

The only thing they could say they had achieved had been to climb higher than anyone before them—the Russians hadn't been even close to the altitude Pepper and Rhodey had reached. Still, by their own estimation, they had been hours away from the summit. No doubt within a few years someone else would break that record, reach the top, and claim their undying glory as the person who first conquered Mount Everest.

The Stark-Rogers expedition of 1952 would be nothing more than a footnote in the long history of failed attempts, with the names of its two leaders added to the list of many others who had lost their lives on the mountain.

  


* * *

  


#### Everest Base Camp, May 2052

"Hank! Bruce! I think he's waking up!" a startled-sounding female voice shouted right next to Steve's ear.

Steve was cold.

It wasn't the usual kind of cold that was something around him, leaching the warmth out of him, but a cold that seemed to come from within. Every fiber, every cell of his body was frozen, and he didn't know how he could ever be warm again.

"That's impossible! It's way too soon," a man replied.

"You don't know that," another man said. "Their systems are full of unknown nanotech, anything's possible."

Steve heard the sounds of approaching footsteps; no doubt those men moving closer.

Steve wanted to open his eyes, but even his eyelids felt frosty, and far too heavy to move. He didn't have to, though: soon, there were hands on his face, opening them for him to blind him with a terribly bright light. He blinked and flinched.

"Whoa, I take back my words," the first man spoke again.

Steve couldn't bring his eyes to focus on the three people around him. All he could see were three colourful blurs, against a background that was mostly light gray, with many vague shapes of other colors here and there. The man closest to him seemed to be mostly dressed in green, the other one in red, and the lady in yellow.

"If you've got this, I'd better get back to Stark and make sure he stays under," the red man said. "If he starts waking up before the medevac gets here, we might lose him."

"Yeah, Jan and I will see to Rogers. Go," the green man said.

Stark. Tony was here. Steve had no clue of where he was or what was going on, but if Tony was here—the man had said they might lose him. He couldn't lose Tony. He'd almost lost Tony on the mountain—to the bone-deep cold that had been just as bad as this—before they'd woken up in Haven, where he'd almost had to leave Tony behind—to escape, only to be lost in the snow again, he now remembered.

With immeasurable effort, he pushed himself up and off the bed, onto his feet, scattering what must be medical supplies all around. There was something tugging at his face, an oxygen mask, he thought, and he flung it away with a clumsy hand. He was shaking all over, even colder than before, with the blanket that had been covering him now bunched up at his feet, but he didn't care. He had to get to Tony.

"Captain Rogers! Please, get back on the bed," the green-clad man was telling Steve, insistent hands grabbing at his shoulders. "You need to take it easy. You've been asleep for a long time."

Steve shoved the man away, sending him stumbling back, and forced his icy lips to move. "No. Tony," he said. He hoped the words were clear enough.

"I think he needs to know that his partner is all right," the woman said, her hand much gentler, warm where it landed on Steve's bare shoulder blade.

"But he's—" the man began, but the woman shushed him before he could finish.

"Come on, Captain. Steve. Can I call you Steve?" the woman said. "This way."

Steve's vision was beginning to clear. The three people around him were definitely not Yetis, but just as human as he was. Their colorful clothes seemed far too flimsy to be worn on the mountain, simple trousers and skin-tight long-sleeved shirts. The man in red, with his back turned towards them, was blond, the one in green, dark-haired. The woman's hair was also dark, and cut as short as the men's.

As the woman and the man in green placed themselves by Steve's sides and led him slowly to where the man in red stood, not many feet away, he got a better look at where he was. Although some of the things that he saw seemed almost as advanced and incomprehensible as Haven had, like the flat television screens that appeared to float in mid-air, or the walls that resembled canvas but seemed to somehow stay rigid on their own without any support beams, the place nevertheless called to mind their own medical tent at Base Camp. There were camp beds, stools and a desk, with recognizable medical instruments and bandages and bottles rather haphazardly stowed here and there. Jarvis kept his supplies much more neatly organized.

When they reached Tony's bedside, the man in green pulled up a stool for Steve—just in time, as his trembling legs gave way, both with the exertion, and the weight of the sight in front of him.

Tony was covered with a blanket up to his neck, and there was a clear plastic oxygen mask, quite different from the ones Steve was used to, over his mouth and nose. He was perfectly still, his skin so pale it seemed translucent. Steve couldn't help thinking that instead of asleep or unconscious, Tony looked like a dead man on the mortuary slab. He reached out to cup Tony's face, brushing a thumb over his forehead, and though he'd thought he was chilled to the core himself, Tony's skin felt glacial beneath his fingers.

"He's alive?" Steve breathed.

"Yes, don't worry, he is alive," the woman said.

"I'll be honest with you, he's not doing great," the blond man said, "but the medevac will be here in half an hour, and they'll have a stasis unit with them. We'll get him home, where he can have the best possible care."

Medevac and stasis unit—Steve could guess at what the words might mean, but they were strange to him. As strange as the futuristic televisions and the unfamiliar clothing.

"Who is 'we'?" Steve asked. "And where are we?"

The three others exchanged a long glance. The man in red raised his eyebrows, and the man in green shrugged.

The woman stepped closer to Steve. She was short, her face almost level with his when he was sitting down.

"We are at Everest Base Camp, in Nepal. I'm Jan van Dyne, and these two are Doctors Hank Pym," she said, pointing at the man in red, "and Bruce Banner," pointing at the man in green. "And we're part of the 100-year anniversary expedition, commemorating the First American Everest Expedition of 1952."

  


* * *

  


#### New York, June 2052

Tony woke up thinking he must be back in Haven.

Everything around him was white and bright, and he felt amazingly good. It was great to wake up and to be able to breathe effortlessly, like any healthy person. He could get used to this.

There seemed to be a dip in the mattress to his left, and when he turned his head, he found out it was Steve, sound asleep. He was sitting in a chair, with his forearms on Tony's bed, his head resting on top of them. It didn't look very comfortable, but Tony didn't want to wake him. Steve looked tired, with bags under his eyes, which was a worrisome sight; Steve tended to need less sleep than most people, and rarely missed enough for it to show.

Aside from the sleep-deprived Steve, something else was wrong with the picture. The mattress. It wasn't what they'd been like in Haven, that strange, firm material that adjusted to your weight, and though the bedsheets were white, they felt like regular cotton, not velvety. Now that he looked at the surrounding room properly, there were windows, though they were dark and not see-through—with blinds on the outside, he presumed—and there was a door as well, a perfectly ordinary-looking one.

They must've been rescued, against all odds.

As much as the room looked like what he'd expect to see in a hospital, though, it didn't feel quite right. The fabrics, the materials, the furniture, everything was ever so slightly unfamiliar and different from what he was used to. Instead of any recognizable hospital paraphernalia, all he saw was a screen in one wall that very much looked like the ones in Haven.

More than anything, he also felt like something was amiss with him. Perhaps that was just the fact that he felt better than he was used to?

It struck him, then, with a wave of fear that sent a shiver down his spine: he couldn't feel the repulsor pump at all. He'd been so used to its constant presence that he had only been aware of it when something went wrong, but it had always been there, that steady mechanical ticking, and now, it wasn't. Clearly, he was still alive, so this wasn't necessarily a bad thing, but he couldn't help but feel anxious about it.

He folded back the sheet covering him. He was wearing a thin, light blue gown—and every inch of it rested perfectly flat against his chest, as if there was nothing but skin underneath. Half excited, half panicked, he hurriedly tore aside the fabric.

His chest was as smooth and whole as anyone else's, with only faint pink scarring over his heart. His heart, which was racing with all the confounded emotions and his flustered, panting breaths, but somehow, that was all right; it didn't hurt, it didn't even feel uncomfortable.

If he wasn't in Haven, he must be dreaming.

"Tony?" Steve asked sleepily, stirring next to him.

"Steve," Tony said, and even though he was fine, in a way he'd never really believed he could be, his voice came through all shaky. He glanced at Steve, who had sat up, and then at his impossibly healed chest again. "Steve—how?"

"It's okay," Steve said, reassuring, clearly sensing how rattled Tony was by this. He took hold of Tony's hand. "You're all better now."

Tony couldn't hold back a chuckle that probably sounded more hysterical than happy. "Yes, I've noticed! How is this possible? We're not back in Haven, are we?"

"No, we're not. We're somewhere even more unlikely," Steve said, an odd look on his face.

"What's more unlikely than a lost city of Abominable Snowmen?" Tony asked, quoting the words Steve had used, that night when Tony had shared the bad news.

Steve didn't reply right away, his expression hesitant. "It's going to be a bit of a shock."

"After this?" Tony said, nodding towards his chest. "I sincerely doubt it."

"I wouldn't be so sure," Steve said, still wary. "Tony—we're in the future."

"The future," Tony repeated, dumbstruck.

"2052," Steve said. "When we fell into the ice on Everest, we slept for a hundred years, until an expedition found us."

Steve had been right to warn him. "Two thousand and fifty," Tony breathed.

It was almost impossible to believe, and yet, it did seem to fit the surroundings—and it explained his miraculous recovery.

Steve was looking at him expectantly, waiting for him to react.

Steve. If they really were in the future, Steve was only here because of him. Tony had come up with the chancy plan of escaping, and one could say he had gotten everything he could've asked for: he was healthy, and still had Steve by his side. Unlike Tony, Steve hadn't even considered staying behind in Haven and giving up the life he'd had. He would never have chosen this. He shouldn't be here. That wasn't fair.

"Steve, I—" Tony began.

"No. I know that look. I know what you're thinking. Don't." Steve leaned closer and kissed Tony on the lips, tender and lingering.

"This isn't your fault, Tony," Steve said as they broke the kiss, his eyes very steadily on Tony's. "You didn't know this would happen. We both knew making a run for it was risky, and I agreed to it. We've talked about this."

"A hundred years into the future, and we're still having the same old conversation," Tony said. It would've been amusing, if he hadn't felt so terribly guilty. "I'm still going to say I'm sorry. I love you so much, Steve. I only wanted what's best for you."

"I love you too, and so did I. I don't regret the choices I made, Tony. Never did, and never will." Steve slid his hand to Tony's chest, right where his heart was pounding with all the bewilderment and remorse and overwhelming love.

Tony knew he should say something, but he couldn't think of any words that would be enough. He placed his hand over Steve's and laced their fingers. If he'd wanted confirmation that he was indeed healed, it was right there, because surely a failing heart couldn't have taken all of this.

"Are you feeling all right?" Steve asked softly.

"Yes. Better than all right," Tony assured him. "Did they tell you—how did they cure me?"

"They, uh, if I understood all of it correctly, they grew you a new heart, from your own cells," Steve said. "The others can explain all the gory details better, I'm sure."

"The others?"

For a passing moment, Tony thought about everyone else who had been on their expedition, about Pepper and Rhodey and Jarvis, and Clint and Sam. About Ang Seni, Gyalzen, Nawang, Dorje, Tashi and Lhakpa, and Natasha and Bucky. But after a hundred years, even Nawang, who'd been the youngest of the lot, would be ancient. They must all be long dead by now.

"The people who rescued us, from this year's Everest expedition," Steve clarified. "Jan, Hank and Bruce. They've been very helpful. I think you're going to like them. They're adventurous, and scientific-minded, a lot like you."

"And what about _our_ team?" Tony had to ask.

He could picture Pepper and Rhodey's despair when they'd realized that they'd lost Steve and Tony in the storm, and the resigned sorrow on Jarvis's face when he'd heard of it. He didn't have to wonder if the others had looked for them—he was sure they had. The only question was for how long. He hoped they hadn't taken any unnecessary risks.

"All I know is that they got home safely. I didn't feel ready to delve into the details, but they gave me this," Steve said, his voice heavy with emotion. He fished something out of his pocket. It looked like a folded sheet of paper at first, but when he unfolded it, the surface turned glassy, and lit up like the display on the wall. "They said it holds all the information that there is about our friends. I thought—maybe we could do this together."

"Yes," Tony said. "I think we should."

**Author's Note:**

> Since my experience on climbing/mountaineering is rather limited, I've used a number of works for inspiration when writing this story, including:
> 
>   * High Adventure (1955) by Sir Edmund Hillary
>   * To the Top: The Story of Everest (2003) by Stephen Venables
>   * Everest 1953: The Epic Story of the First Ascent (2012) by Mick Conefrey (audiobook)
>   * Everest: The First Ascent (2013) by Harriet Tuckey (audiobook)
>   * Everest (2015), the movie, directed by Baltasar Kormákur
> 

> 
> Other trivia:
> 
>   * William Moors was inspired by an actual person, [Maurice Wilson](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Maurice_Wilson), who indeed flew to Everest and tried to climb it solo in 1934 (though not along the southern route). His body was discovered a year later.
>   * There have been [rumors](http://thosewhodared.blogspot.fi/2012/10/1952-mount-everest-and-russians.html) of a Russian expedition to Everest in 1952, but it has never been proven, and most likely didn't actually happen.
>   * The British expedition that successfully summited Everest in 1953 used both closed- and open-circuit oxygen sets, but the closed-circuit sets (rebreathers) were notoriously error-prone. Tenzing Norgay and Edmund Hillary made their famous first ascent using open-circuit sets, which are the norm nowadays.
>   * The route up the mountain that the expedition followed in this story is similar to that of the 1953 expedition, which is also the most popular route today. I tried to keep it as realistic as possible (Yetis and lost cities aside). However, I took some artistic liberties with the acclimatization trip to Lho La.
> 

> 
> Finally, tumblr post with art and fic details can be found [here](http://veldeia.tumblr.com/post/153743179841/pantsoff-danceoff-artwork-for-to-see-what-lies)!


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